Year 5: From Beaches to Britain
by stiles622
Summary: Barely a crossover, everything about it is Harry Potter with the cross-over that one of the characters is an earth bender. It's an OC-in-the-story story and starts in Year 3. This is the sequel to the sequel. Fred/OC
1. Chapter 1: Summer Breeze

Christina's summer had been similar to the ones previously, pretending to be in two places at once. She split her time between America and England, between her kind muggle family and Fred, the only difference is that there seemed to be a cloud hovering with Christina wherever she went. She was talking and joking again, but ever since Cedric's death something just didn't feel right. There was a pit in her stomach every time she talked to Fred and she hoped that if she just ignored it, it would eventually go away.

Fred had learned how to apparate and disapparate so it was easier for them to survive the summer. A week after Harry's birthday (July 31st) Christina asked Fred to send her to Little Winging to pay Harry a visit.

"I'm flying blind so you'll have to make us invisible when we get there" Fred said holding Christina's hands.

"Of course! You sure you don't want to stay?"

"I've got work to do, besides you're smothering me" Fred said with a smirk. Christina playfully pushed him.

"Very funny, jerk" he smiled and kissed her. Christina felt a pull behind her navel, and they were off. Her whole body felt like it was in a windtunnel and when her toes touched the ground she dissolved her and Fred's bodies but the crack of the apparition was so loud that several neighbors heads poked from the windows. She and Fred hid under a car as a small dirt pile. Moments went by in silence, but then Christina heard a low, surly voice call out "Lovely evening! Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!" and Christina contained a laugh. Petunia was Harry's aunt, they had landed in the right spot.

Once all the neighbors went back to their dark houses she reassembled herself and Fred and he dispparated quietly, giving her a quick kiss goodbye. Christina flew up to Harry's window and pushed herself through the cracks in the window sill. She reassembled herself and waited in Harry's room for him to return. He was going to be so excited.

She sat on his bed waiting for him to most likely trudge up the stairs after a verbal beat-down from his aunt and uncle but after sitting in silence for a few minutes no one came. She paced around his room and saw newspapers everywhere, a few letters from herself, Ron, and Hermione as well as some unopened chocolate in the trash.

"I hope he never comes back. . .would serve him right" the voices were coming from a shrill woman downstairs, Petunia.

"Uncivilized! Unbelievable!" Vernon responded roughly. He left? Christina thought to herself. She rushed over to the window and didn't see anybody, how far had he gone? She dematerialized herself through the window and flew through the air to try and spot Harry, however far he'd gone.

There wasn't a soul on these streets. It seemed that the residents of Little Whinging had retreated back into their air-conditioned homes to escape the heat, Christina now flew up high to see any people on the ground. She circled the area for a minute before spotting a boy sitting on a park swing-set. She swooped in.

"Harry!" she said excited as she rematerialized in front of Harry's eyes, startling him so much he fell off the swing-set. "Oh, sorry!" she said lending a hand to help him up.

"Don't do that again," Harry said catching his breath and placing a hand over his heart. Once he regained stability they hugged. "What're you doing here?" Harry asked. Christina used her powers to repair the swing next to Harry 's and sat down.

"Oh you know, freaking out the local children" she said grinning. "How're you?" Harry didn't respond immediately. He just sat on the swing, head down, kicking some loose wood chips from under his feet.

"I don't want to be here."

"I know."

"No, you don't. I wish I could fly off and do whatever I want but I'm stuck here, in the dark, and you, Ron, and Hermione are off having the times of your lives" Harry said angrily. He didn't look at her however, and Christina sat there mouth agape.

"Harry, I haven't seen Ron or Hermione all summer." he didn't say anything. "In fact, I don't know where they are, what they're doing, or really what anyone is doing. I've seen Fred and he doesn't tell me anything because we agreed to never talk about it because I don't want to know"

"How could you not want to know?"

"Because I don't like the idea of someone actively seeking my DEATH, Harry!"

But before Harry could respond they both turned to the sound of the clicking of a bike as well as the muffled conversations of a few stout boys.

"Dudley." Harry said lazily. Christina watched as the gang of boys walked down the street, kicking rocks that came in their way and pushing each other. Rowdy was an understatement. After they left Harry got up as well,

"I better get home when he does, might be locked in a shed otherwise" Christina frowned and walked with him a good twenty feet behind Dudley and his entourage. They walked in silence and when Dudley's gang split up and went their separate ways Christina was shocked when Harry sped up to talk to Dudley.

"Hey, Big D!" Harry shouted at him. Christina stopped and considering running but Dudley didn't know who she was. . .it should be okay, right?

Dudley turned.

"Oh," he grunted. "It's you."

"How long have you been 'Big D' then?" said Harry.

"Shut it," snarled Dudley, turning away again.

"Cool name," said Harry, grinning and falling into step beside his cousin. "But you'll always be Ickle Diddykins to me."

"I said, SHUT IT!" said Dudley, whose ham-like hands had curled into fists.

"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?"

"Shut your face."

"You don't tell her to shut her face. What about 'popkin' and 'Dinky Diddydums,' can I use them then?" Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry seemed to be demanding all his self-control. Christina was truly taken-aback, Harry had never been so mean before, or at least, not in front of her. She grabbed his arm and gave Harry a look but Harry just shrugged her off and kept walking at Dudley.

"So who've you been beating up tonight?" Harry asked, his grin fading. "Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago —"

"He was asking for it," snarled Dudley.

"Oh yeah?"

"He cheeked me."

"Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true . . ." A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. Christina was sure he was about to hit Harry.

They turned right down the narrow alleyway which formed a shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

"Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you? You better watch yourself girl, he's a lunatic you know" Dudley said after a few seconds. Christina looked at him amused and yet still felt sorry for him. Harry had always talked about Dudley as though Harry was being tortured by him, but this made it seem like Harry was the bully.

"What thing?" Harry asked.

"That — that thing you're hiding." Harry grinned again.

"Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time. . . ." Harry pulled out his wand and Christina stopped walking.

"Harry!" Christina said, Harry ignored her and she saw Dudley look sideways at his wand. They both stopped walking as well.

"You're not allowed," Dudley said at once. "I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to."

"How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?"

"They haven't," said Dudley, though he didn't sound completely convinced. Harry laughed softly.

"You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?" Dudley snarled.

"Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?"

"He was sixteen for your information," snarled Dudley, "and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out —"

"Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" sneered Dudley.

"This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this."

"I mean when you're in bed!" Dudley snarled. Harry was now staring at his cousin. From the little she could see of Dudley's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphant look.

"What d'you mean, he's not brave in bed?" said Christina, confused.

"What — am I supposed to be frightened of pillows or something?" Harry added.

"I heard you last night," said Dudley breathlessly. "Talking in your sleep. Moaning."

"What d'you mean?" Harry said again, there was a cold, plunging sensation in Christina's stomach. She knew what was coming next for she too had nightmares about the graveyard. Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter then adopted a high-pitched, whimpering voice.

" 'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric — your boyfriend?"

"I — you're lying —" said Harry automatically. She knew Dudley wasn't lying — how else would he know about Cedric? So Harry was dreaming about him too. . .

" 'Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo-hoo!' "

"Shut up," said Harry quietly. "Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!"

" 'Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me!" Christina grabbed Harry's shoulders as he tried to get closer to Dudley. "He's going to —' Don't you point that thing at me!" Dudley backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing the wand directly at Dudley's heart. Christina gripped his upper-arms from behind him. "Don't" she said quietly in Harry's ear.

"Don't ever talk about that again," Harry snarled at Dudley. "D'you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!"

"I said, do you understand me?"

"Point it somewhere else!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM —" Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless — the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant grumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them. For a split second Christina thought she had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that she'd been resisting as hard as she could — then her reason caught up with her senses — she didn't have the power to turn off the stars. She turned her head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on her eyes like a weightless veil. Dudley's terrified voice broke the silence.

"W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!" said Harry. Christina backed away and lifted dirt particles from the ground to try and feel anything around them, but she couldn't sense anything.

"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I —" Dudley continued.

"I said shut up!" Harry and Christina stood stock-still, she turned her sightless eyes left and right. The cold was so intense that she was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up her arms, and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up — she opened her eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing.

"I'll t-tell Dad!" Dudley whimpered. "W-where are you? What are you d-do — ?"

"Will you shut up?" Harry hissed, "I'm trying to lis —" But he fell silent. Christina then heard it. Something she hadn't heard in since she was by the lake two years ago.

There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Christina felt a horrible jolt of dread as she stood trembling in the freezing air.

"C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"

"Dudley, shut —" WHAM! A fist made contact with the side of Harry's head, lifting Harry off his feet, his wand falling on the ground. "Oh, Jesus" Christina muttered as she used the particles floating to lead her to Harry to help him up.

"You moron, Dudley!" Harry yelled, she heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling, directly towards it. "DON'T!" she yelled.

"DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!" There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Christina felt a creeping chill behind her that could mean only one thing. There was more than one. "Harry, we have to get out of here, get up!" she said and Harry got to his feet, rubbing his temple.

"DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!" Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. "Where's — wand — come on — Lumos!" He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search — and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand — the wand tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet, and hand-in-hand they turned around ready to run. Christina's stomach turned over. A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly toward them, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came.

Harry stumbled back and raised his wand."Expecto Patronum!" A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of the wand and the dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; Christina wretched back Harry's hand and they ran in the other direction but the dementor was gaining on them. Harry tripped and as he fell he pulled Christina down with him. Harry got on his hands and knees and back crawling away but as the dementor bore down upon her, panic fogging her brain — concentrate — A pair of gray, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the dementor's robes, reaching for her. A rushing noise filled Christina's ears.

"Expecto Patronum!" She heard Harry call out again but it sounded dim and distant. . . . Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand — There was laughter inside her own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter. . . . She could smell the dementor's putrid, death-cold breath, filling her own lungs, drowning her. The dementor's icy fingers were closing on her throat — the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside her head —

"Bow to death, Christina. . . . It might even be painless. . . . I would not know. . . . I have never died. . . ." She was never going to see Fred, Harry, Ron and Hermione again — And their faces burst clearly into her mind as she fought for breath —

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" she bellowed out clutching her wand. An enormous silver fox erupted from the tip of her wand; the dementor was thrown backward, weightless as darkness, and as the fox chased, the dementor swooped away, batlike and defeated.

"THIS WAY!" Harry shouted at the fox as he rushed over to Christina. She looked up to him and he put an arm underneath hers and lifted her up. She got up at once and ran with Harry and the silver fox towards where Dudley had clambered off. They sprinted down the alleyway, Christina holding the lit wand aloft.

"DUDLEY? DUDLEY!" Harry called out, they had run barely a dozen steps when they reached them: Dudley was curled on the ground, his arms clamped over his face; a second dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prizing them slowly, almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head toward Dudley's face as though about to kiss him. . . .

"GET IT!" Christina yelled, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver fox she had conjured came running back past them. The dementor's eyeless face was barely an inch from Dudley's when the fox pounced and the thing was thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, it soared away and was absorbed into the darkness. The fox rushed to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into silver mist.

Moon, stars, and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighboring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again. Christina and Harry stood quite still, all her senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality. After a moment she became aware that her shirt was sticking to her; she was drenched in sweat. She could not believe what had just happened. Dementors here, in Little Whinging . . .

Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, but then heard loud, running footsteps behind them; Harry raised his wand.

They spun around to face the newcomer, just an old woman. Her grizzled gray hair was escaping from its hairnet, a clanking string shopping bag was swinging from her wrist, and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpet slippers. Harry made to stow his wand hurriedly out of sight, but — "Don't put it away, idiot boy!" she shrieked. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"


	2. Chapter 2: Mail Mayhem

"What?" said Christina blankly.

"He left!" said Mrs. Figg, wringing her hands. "Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It's just lucky I put Mr. Tibbies on the case! But we haven't got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we've got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will kill him!"

"But —you're — you're a witch?" Harry uttered.

"I'm a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off dementors? He left you completely without cover and you-" she waved a finger at Christina" "You shouldn't even be here! What did Dumbledore tell you—"

"This bloke Mundungus has been following me?" Harry interrupted.

"Yes, yes, yes, but luckily I'd stationed Mr. Tibbies under a car just in case, and Mr. Tibbies came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house, Harry, you'd gone — and now — oh, what's Dumbledore going to say? You!" she shrieked at Dudley, still supine on the alley floor. "Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!"

"You know Dumbledore?" said Christina, staring at her.

"Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come on — I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag —" She stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands, and tugged. "Get up, you useless lump, get up!" But Dudley either could not or would not move. He was still on the ground, trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight.

"I'll do it." Harry took hold of Dudley's arm and heaved: With an enormous effort he managed to hoist Dudley to his feet. Dudley seemed to be on the point of fainting: His small eyes were rolling in their sockets and sweat was beading his face; the moment Harry let go of him he swayed dangerously.

"Hurry up!" said Mrs. Figg hysterically. Harry pulled one of Dudley's massive arms around his own shoulders and dragged him toward the road, sagging slightly under his weight. Mrs. Figg tottered along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner. "Keep your wand out, Christina, what are you still doing here? Go!" she told them, and Christina stopped confused and waved goodbye to the odd trio. She dematerialized and went off in the wind to America where her muggle parents were, unknowing of the events that had just transpired.

She went straight to her room and laid on her bed, looking up at the ceiling. What had just happened? Harry was being watched and or followed? Why? What could he have done to make Dumbledore so uneasy? Was she also being followed? She wanted desperately to talk to Fred but they had agreed to only meet in places that weren't their homes. She figured it was because of the intense mess Fred and George were surely making from their experiments but she also had a distinct feeling that there was a deeper reason that she chose to ignore. Ever since the graveyard it was like a sense of dread followed her wherever she went, but when she ignored everything around her and just focused on who she was with, she was happy.

She snapped back to reality when she heard the sharp rap at her window. She got up to see that it was an grey owl with an envelope, one she did not recognize. Christina opened the window and took the note, and the bird flew off. She noticed the ministry seal on the edge instantly:

 _Dear Ms. Bataskill,_

 _We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-five minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle. The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand. We regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on August 12th. Hoping you are well,_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk_

 _Improper Use of Magic Office_

 _Ministry of Magic_

Christina read the letter through twice. She found it hard to believe that she almost laughed, this must be a prank from Fred and George surely. . .but they didn't know about what had happened . . . She felt icy and numb. One fact had penetrated her consciousness like a paralyzing dart. She was expelled from Hogwarts. Her coldness fell and a hot burning rage awoke within her. Who were they to take her wand! She had natural power! She could fight them, and win! Christina paced her room furiously and remembered,

'Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.'

There was no way, just no way. She packed up everything she could and considered rushing downstairs to convince her parents she had to leave. She collected the last bits of her belongings when a second owl rapped at her window. Her head was in a fog and she almost didn't read the letter, but it was not from the ministry so she took the letter and opened it:

 _Christina —_

 _Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry, and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND._

 _Arthur Weasley_

Dumbledore was trying to sort it all out. . . . What did that mean? How much power did Dumbledore have to override the Ministry of Magic? Was there a chance that she might be allowed back to Hogwarts, then? A small shoot of hope burgeoned in Christina's chest, almost immediately strangled by panic — how was she supposed to refuse to surrender her wand without doing magic? She'd have to duel with the Ministry representatives, and if she did that, she'd be lucky to escape Azkaban, let alone expulsion.

Her mind was racing. . . . She could run for it and risk being captured by the Ministry, or stay put and wait for them to find her here. She was much more tempted by the former course, but she knew that Mr. Weasley had her best interests at heart . . . and, after all, Dumbledore had sorted out much worse than this before. . . .just then there was a familiar crack behind her and she turned to see Fred Weasley.

"Oh thank God!" Christina said and leaped over to embrace him. He held her tightly, running his hands down her hair.

"What on earth have you done now. . ." he said exhaling. She sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed, he joined her. "Oh you know, the usual expulsion threats"

"Yeah my Dad said something like that. . . ." he said and laid back on her bed. She laid back too and explained everything, from Harry oddly brutish behavior to the black, dead hands clasping around her throat. He turned over and spooned her. Kissing her neck he exhaled once more, "I'm sorry" Her face scrunched in confusion, "Why?"

"I know it hasn't been easy for you, I can only imagine what this-" but for a third time that night there was a peck at the window. Christina considered just leaving it open. She took the third letter from the owl and recognized the ministry seal, "Maybe they changed their mind already?" she said showing Fred the emblem:

 _Dear Ms. Bataskill,_

 _Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on 12th August, at which time an official decision will be taken. Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further inquiries. With best wishes,_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk_

 _Improper Use of Magic Office_

 _Ministry of Magic_

She had read the letter to Fred who snatched it the second she had finished reading. The miserable knot in her chest loosened slightly at the thought that she was not definitely expelled, though her fears were by no means banished. Everything seemed to hang on this hearing on the twelfth of August.

"I'll kill em'" Fred said in a huff.

"Ha, ha. Maybe then at least we can share a cell in Azkaban together"

"Seriously! This is mad! They've got to be off their - I mean honestly!" Fred continued. Christina continued putting her things in her trunk. "What're you doing?"

"Packing"

"You can't leave, my dad-"

"I know, but I can't stay here, Fred." Fred walked over a took the books from Christina's hands and placed them on the bed. She looked at him hard, trying to figure out why he was so adamant on following his father's words. But she suddenly realized,

"Harry! Do you think he's expelled too? Do you think we have the same hearing date?" she said quickly, Fred didn't answer, he instead was going to the window.

"Incoming!" a fourth owl landed on her window and held out its leg to deliver a note. She took it quickly and recognized the handwriting, Remus Lupin's.

 _Arthur's just told us what's happened. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do._

After what had happened between her and Remus only a month previously she found this such an inadequate response to everything that had happened tonight. She turned the piece of parchment over, looking for the rest of the letter, but there was nothing there, now her temper was rising again. Wasn't anybody going to say "well done" for fighting off two dementors single-handedly? Both Mr. Weasley and Remus were acting as though she'd misbehaved and they were saving their tellings-off until they could ascertain how much damage had been done. She felt very much like a child.

She and Fred were quiet for a while, she was too mad to say anything and he seemed to scared to set her off. They just laid on the bed and watched the ceiling, waiting for anymore owls to arrive.

She didn't remember falling asleep. It felt like she was there lying with Fred on the bed, blinked, and it was daytime. Although when she awoke, Fred was gone. He left her there to stew in confusion and misery. The next few days came and went with no ceremony, no one visited her, no one wrote to her, she watched TV with her family and ate mundane dinners. It was the life she knew she'd had, had she'd not attended Hogwarts. The boring complacency, she couldn't stand it. Christina decided that if no one showed up after a week that she'd leave, and deal with the repercussions later.

The fourth night she was sitting on her bed again, this time on her laptop, scrolling through newsfeeds. One thing she missed while at Hogwarts was her laptop, she might never have to miss it again. . .she got up and looked out her main window. It was dark and her family had gone out to a tupperware party, she politely declined. On her dresser she grabbed her fabric spray and sprayed her room, she loved the smell and she always sprayed it right before she got into bed, a weird tradition she started over the summer. Before she got under the covers there was a creak coming along the hallway from her room. She lifted the dust particles on the floor outside her room and instantly grabbed her wand from her bedside table.

Many figures were outside in her hallway, tall and large figures, she could feel out at least twelve feet. She got to her knees on her bed and pointed her wand at the door, bracing for impact.

Next moment she jumped as the lock gave a loud click and her door swung open. Christina motionless, staring through the open door at the dark upstairs landing, straining her ears for further sounds, but none came. She hesitated for a moment and then moved swiftly and silently towards her open door.

Her heart shot upward into her throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as she could see, looking up at her.

"Lower your wand, before you take someone's eye out," said a low, growling voice. Christina's heart was thumping uncontrollably. She knew that voice, Alastor Moody, but she did not lower her wand. Instead she rushed back into her room and slammed the door shut, sitting in front of the door. She had recently spent nine months in what she had thought was Mad-Eye Moody's company only to find out that it wasn't Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who had tried to kill Christina before being unmasked. But before she could make a decision about what to do next, a second, slightly hoarse voice floated upstairs.

"It's all right, Christina. We've come to take you away." It was Remus Lupin, now at her door. She hesitantly opened her door a crack to see the familiar face and scar. He smiled,

"I swear it's me, please don't attack me" he said sweetly. She lowered her wand and opened the door. They hugged momentarily.

"Why are we all standing in the dark?" said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. "Lumos." A wand tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Christina blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing intently up at her, some craning their heads for a better look. Remus stood nearest to her. Though still quite young, he looked tired and rather ill; he had more gray hair than when Christina had last spoke to him, and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Christina, who tried to smile back through her shock.

"Oooh, she looks just like I thought he would," said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. "Wotcher, Christina!"

"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," said a bald black wizard standing farthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. "She looks exactly like her mother."

Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled gray hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Christina through his mismatched eyes. One of the eyes was small, dark, and beady, the other large, round, and electric blue — the magical eye that could see through walls, doors, and the back of Moody's own head. "Are you quite sure it's her, Lupin?" he growled. "It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating her. We ought to ask her something only the real girl would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"

"Are you serious? Are we quit sure it isn't Barty Crouch Jr.!" Christina said wavering, still frightened of Mad-Eye from their last encounter.

"Smart girl!" Mad-Eye beamed, but Remus spoke for Moody "He is the real Alastor. Christina, what form does your Patronus take?" said Lupin.

"A fox," said Christina nervously.

"That's her, Mad-Eye," said Lupin. Christina descended the stairs, very conscious of everybody still staring at her, stowing her wand into the back pocket of her jeans as she came.

"Don't put your wand there, girl!" roared Moody. "What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!"

"Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?" the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly.

"Never you mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!" growled Mad-Eye. "Elementary wand safety, nobody bothers about it anymore. . . ." He stumped off toward the kitchen. "And I saw that," he added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Lupin held out his hand and shook Christina's.

"How are you?" he asked, looking at Christina closely.

"Confused . . ." Christina could hardly believe this was real. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove her from America, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this were a long-standing arrangement. She glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at her.

"We are leaving, aren't we?" she asked. "Soon?"

"Almost at once," said Lupin, "we're just waiting for the all-clear."

"Where are we going? The Burrow?" Christina asked hopefully.

"Not the Burrow, no," said Lupin, motioning Christina toward the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Christina curiously.

"Too risky. We've set up headquarters somewhere undetectable. It's taken a while. . . ." Mad-Eye Moody was now sitting at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning in all directions, taking in the many labor-saving appliances. "This is Alastor Moody, Christina," Lupin continued, pointing toward Moody.

"Yeah, I know," said Christina uncomfortably; it felt odd to be introduced to somebody she'd thought she'd known for a year. "And this is Nymphadora —"

"Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," said the young witch with a shudder. "It's Tonks."

"— Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only," finished Lupin. "So would you if your fool of a mother had called you 'Nymphadora,' " muttered Tonks. "And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt" — he indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed — "Elphias Doge" — the wheezy-voiced wizard nodded — "Dedalus Diggle —"

"We've met before," squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his top hat. "— Emmeline Vance" — a stately looking witch in an emeraldgreen shawl inclined her head — "Sturgis Podmore" — a square-jawed wizard with thick, straw-colored hair winked — "and Hestia Jones." A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster. Christina inclined her head awkwardly at each of them as they were introduced. She wished they would look at something other than her; it was as though she had suddenly been ushered onstage. She also wondered why so many of them were there.

"A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you," said Lupin, as though he had read Christina's mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "Yeah, well, the more the better," said Moody darkly. "We're your guard, Bataskill."

"We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off," said Lupin, glancing out of the kitchen window. "We've got about fifteen minutes."

"Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?" said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. "My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just like with wizards?"

"Er — yeah," said Christina. "Look" — she turned back to Lupin — "what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol — ?" Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises; Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again, and Moody growled, "Shut up!"

"What?" said Christina.

"We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky," said Moody, turning his normal eye on Christina; his magical eye remained pointing up at the ceiling. "Damn it," he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, "it keeps sticking — ever since that scum wore it —" And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye.

"Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?" said Tonks conversationally. "Get me a glass of water, would you, Christina?" asked Moody. Christina crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass, and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards. Their relentless staring was starting to annoy her. "Cheers," said Moody, when Christina handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down; the eye whizzed around, staring at them all in turn.

"I want three-hundred-and-sixty degrees visibility on the return journey."

"How're we getting — wherever we're going?" Christina asked. "Brooms," said Lupin. "Only way. You're too young to Apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network, and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorized Portkey."

"Remus says you're a good flier," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice. "She's excellent," said Lupin, who was checking his watch. "Anyway, you'd better go and get packed, Christina, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes."

"I'll come and help you," said Tonks brightly. She followed Christina back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest. "Funny place," she said, "it's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better," she added, as they entered Christina's bedroom and Christina turned on the light. Her room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Christina had not bothered tidying up after herself. Most of the books she owned were strewn over the floor where she'd tried to distract herself with each in turn and thrown it aside. Her owl Tulip's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell, and her trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizard's robes that had spilled onto the floor around it.

Christina started picking up books and throwing them hastily into her trunk. Tonks paused at her open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.

"You know, I don't think purple's really my color," she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. "D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?"

"Er —" said Christina, looking up at her.

"Yeah, it does," said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she were struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.

"How did you do that?" said Christina, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus," she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions. "It means I can change my appearance at will," she added, spotting Christina's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. "I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great."

"You're an Auror?" said Christina, impressed. Being a Dark wizard catcher was the only career she'd ever considered after Hogwarts.

"Yeah," said Tonks, looking proud. "Kingsley is as well; he's a bit higher up than I am, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking, I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?"

"Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?" Christina asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing. Tonks chuckled. "Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?" Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Christina's hand.

"No, I wouldn't mind," Christina mumbled, turning away. She did not like people staring at her scar.

"Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid," said Tonks. "Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand or potions to change their appearance. But we've got to get going, Christina, we're supposed to be packing," she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.

"Oh — yeah," said Christina, grabbing up a few more books.

"Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I — pack!" cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor. Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.

"It's not very neat," said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. "My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly — she even gets the socks to fold themselves — but I've never mastered how she does it — it's a kind of flick —" She flicked her wand hopefully; one of Christina's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess within.

"Ah, well," said Tonks, slamming the trunk's lid shut, "at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too — Scourgify —" She pointed her wand at Tulip's cage; a few feathers and droppings vanished. "Well, that's a bit better — I've never quite got the hang of these sort of householdy spells. Right — got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! A lunit!" Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Christina's right hand.

"And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty," said Tonks enviously. "Ah well . . . wand still in your jeans? Both buttocks still on? Okay, let's go. Locomotor Trunk." Christina's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductor's baton, Tonks made it hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Tulip's cage in her left hand. Christina followed her down the stairs carrying her broomstick.

Back in the kitchen, Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Christina feel sick. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Lupin was sealing a letter addressed to her adopted family.

"Excellent," said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Christina entered. "We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Christina, I've left a letter telling your parens not to worry —"

"They won't," said Christina.

"That you're safe and you'll see them next summer."

"Do I have to?" Christina asked jokingly. Lupin smiled but made no answer.

"Come here, girl," said Moody gruffly, beckoning Christina toward him with his wand. "I need to Disillusion you."

"You need to what?" said Christina nervously.

"Disillusionment Charm," said Moody, raising his wand. "It'll disguise you better. Here you go —" He rapped Christina hard on the top of the head and Christina felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down her body from the point the wand had struck.

"Nice one, Mad-Eye," said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Christina's midriff. Christina looked down at her body, or rather, what had been her body, for it didn't look anything like his anymore. It was not invisible; it had simply taken on the exact color and texture of the kitchen unit behind him. She seemed to have become a human chameleon.

"Come on," said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand. They all stepped outside onto the beautifully kept lawn.

"Clear night," grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. "Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you," he barked at Christina, "we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed —"

"Is that likely?" Christina asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored her. "— the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Christina, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you."

"Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, she'll think we're not taking this seriously," said Tonks, as she strapped Christina's trunk and Tulip's cage into a harness hanging from her broom.

"I'm just telling the girl the plan," growled Moody. "Our job's to deliver her safely to headquarters and if we die in the attempt —"

"No one's going to die," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.

"Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!" said Lupin sharply, pointing into the sky. Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Christina recognized them at once as wand sparks. She swung her right leg over her Lunit, gripped its handle tightly, and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as she was to be up in the air once more.

"Second signal, let's go!" said Lupin loudly, as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them. Christina kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Los Angeles fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from her mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of her head. For a few glorious moments, all her problems seemed to recede into nothing, insignificant in the vast, starry sky.

"Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!" shouted Moody from behind her. Tonks swerved and Christina followed her, watching her trunk swinging wildly beneath Tonks' broom. "We need more height. . . . Give it another quarter of a mile!" Christina's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upward; she could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps.

"Bearing south!" shouted Mad-Eye. "Town ahead!" They soared right, so that they did not pass directly over the glittering spiderweb of lights below. "Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!" called Moody.

"We're not going through clouds!" shouted Tonks angrily. "We'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!" Christina was relieved to hear her say this; her hands were growing numb on the broom's handle. She wished she had thought to put on a coat; she was starting to shiver. They altered their course every now and then according to MadEye's instructions. Christina's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make her ears ache. She could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in her third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around her was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Christina lost track of time. She wondered how long they had been flying; it felt like an hour at least.

"Turning southwest!" yelled Moody. "We want to avoid the motorway!" Christina was now so chilled that she thought longingly for a moment of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of traveling by Floo powder; it might be uncomfortable to spin around in fireplaces but it was at least warm in the flames. . . .

Kingsley Shacklebolt swooped around her, bald pate and earring gleaming slightly in the moonlight. . . . Now Emmeline Vance was on her right, her wand out, her head turning left and right . . . then she too swooped over her, to be replaced by Sturgis Podmore. . . .

"We ought to double back for a bit, just to make sure we're not being followed!" Moody shouted. "ARE YOU MAD, MAD-EYE?" Tonks screamed from the front. "We're all frozen to our brooms! If we keep going off course we're not going to get there until next week! We're nearly there now!"

"Time to start the descent!" came Lupin's voice. "Follow Tonks, Christina!" Christina followed Tonks into a dive. They were heading for the largest collection of lights he had yet seen, a huge, sprawling, crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deepest black. Lower and lower they flew, until Christina could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys, and television aerials. She wanted to reach the ground very much, though she felt sure that someone would have to unfreeze her from her broom.

"Here we go!" called Tonks, and a few seconds later Tonks had landed. Christina touched down right behind her and dismounted on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Tonks was already unbuckling Christina's trunk. Shivering, Christina looked around. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.

"Where are we?" Christina asked, but Lupin said quietly, "In a minute." Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold. "Got it," he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it. The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out. He kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only light in the square came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.

"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," growled Moody, pocketing the Put-Outer. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now, come on, quick." He took Christina by the arm and led her from the patch of grass, across the road, and onto the pavement. Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying Christina's trunk between them, the rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanking them. The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.

"Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment toward Christina's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorize." Christina looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:

 ** _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._**


	3. Chapter 3: Different

"What's the order of the-" Christina began.

"Not here, girl!" snarled Moody. "Wait till we're inside!" He pulled the piece of parchment out of Christina's hand and set fire to it with his wand tip. As the message curled into flames and floated to the ground, Christina looked around at the houses again. They were standing outside number eleven; she looked to the left and saw number ten; to the right, however, was number thirteen.

"But where's — ?"

"Think about what you've just memorized," said Lupin quietly. Christina thought, and no sooner had she reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. Christina gaped at it. The stereo in number eleven thudded on. Apparently the Muggles inside hadn't even felt anything.

"Come on, hurry," growled Moody, prodding Christina in the back. Christina walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialized door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver door knocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox. Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Christina heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.

"Get in quick, Christina," Lupin whispered. "But don't go far inside and don't touch anything." Christina stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. She could smell damp, dust, and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. She looked over her shoulder and saw the others filing in behind her, Lupin and Tonks carrying her trunk and Tulip's cage. Moody was standing on the top step and releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the streetlamps; they flew back to their bulbs and the square beyond glowed momentarily with orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall became complete.

"Here —" He rapped Christina hard over the head with his wand; Christina felt as though something hot was trickling down her back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted. "Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light in here," Moody whispered. The others' hushed voices were giving Christina an odd feeling of foreboding; it was as though they had just entered the house of a dying person. She heard a soft hissing noise and then old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls. Christina heard something scuttling behind the baseboard. Both the chandelier and the candelabra on a rickety table nearby were shaped like serpents.

Christina suddenly all at once felt extraordinarily overwhelmed. She started breathing heavily and felt a tightness in her chest. . . a dementor attack. . . Voldemort coming back. . .Moody and Lupin. . .what was going on? What had been going on? She couldn't feign ignorance forever, what was Voldemort plotting? When was she going to die at the hand of the most evil mass murderer in the world. . .

"Christina, are you alright?" Lupin asked, bending down to her. Christina now leaning back on the wall felt very aware of all the eyes upon her.

"I don't want to be here" she said in a huff.

"What-Christina don't be silly we-"

"Please, I don't want to be here, I can't-I want to leave" and as Lupin put a consoling hand on Christina's shoulder she heard the kitchen door swing open and saw Harry's godfather standing in the frame, Sirius Black.

"Hello, dear, what's the matter?" he asked while rushing over to her. Lupin stepped aside,

"I can't be here, I can't breath-"

"Come on, let's get you out of here" and he took her by the arm leading her into another, grimier, room. Christina paced the room, chest heaving, and Sirius closed the doors.

"I can't be here! This place, these people, I can't keep pretending like there's not some psychopath out there trying to kill me!" she took a beat and looked at Sirius who seemed quite taken-aback. "And you! None of you even wrote to me! None of you told me what was happening and I-and I had to fight a damn DEMENTOR!"

"Christina-"

"WHAT!"

"You're glowing. . . " and she looked down to see, indeed, her body was glowing yellow. She felt her insides burn hot with anger and she threw her fists down.

"Oh GREAT! Just what I needed! Freaky Christina being the disgusting freak she is!" hot tears streamed down her face and she slid down the wall to sit on the floor, head down on her knees. Sirius rushed over and got on his knees, concerned,

"You are not a freak!" she lifted her head to look at him "Christina, Harry can talk to snakes, Lupin's a werewolf, and I'm a dog. You're just different, like everyone in the world. It's nothing to cry about." he added as he wiped a tear from her rosy cheek. She sniffed and groaned.

"What is wrong with me?" she said with a small smile. Sirius laughed, "You glow" she gave a small laugh and Sirius sat next to her against the wall. They sat like that for what couldn't have been longer than an hour; Christina liked talking to Sirius, he reminded her of herself. They both were fun, mischievous, stubborn as all hell, and had a lack of respect for any rules or authority. She wished it was Sirius who was her godfather at times, Lupin seemed more of a Hermione type than a Christina one.

Just as Christina was showing Sirius how she could disassemble and reassemble her hand, Lupin walked in. "Sirius the meeting is about to start, oh Christina, Harry just got here." Christina and Sirius stood up and Christina rushed over to Harry to give him a hug. Before she could say a word, Ron's mother, Mrs. Weasley, emerged from a door at the far end of the hall. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried towards them, though Christina noticed that she was rather thinner and paler than she had been last time he had seen her.

"Oh, dears, it's lovely to see you!" she whispered, pulling both Christina and Harry into a rib-cracking hug before holding Harry at arm's length and examining him critically. "You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid. . . ." She turned to the gang of wizards behind him and whispered urgently, "He's just arrived, the meeting's started. . . ." The wizards behind Christina and Harry all made noises of interest and excitement and began filing past them toward the door through which Mrs. Weasley had just come; Christina made to follow Lupin, but Mrs. Weasley held her back.

"No, Christina, the meeting's only for members of the Order. My kids and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meeting's over and then we'll have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall," she added in an urgent whisper.

"Why?" Christina asked.

"I don't want to wake anything up."

"What d'you — ?" Harry started.

"I'll explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting — I'll just show you where you're sleeping." Pressing her finger to her lips, she led them on tiptoes past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains, behind which Christina supposed there must be another door, and after skirting a large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg, they started up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look showed Christina that the heads belonged to house-elves. All of them had the same rather snoutlike nose. Christina's bewilderment deepened with every step she took. What on earth were they doing in a house that looked as though it belonged to the Darkest of wizards?

"Mrs. Weasley, why — ?"

"Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, I've really got to dash," Mrs. Weasley whispered distractedly. "There" — they had reached the second landing — "you're the door on the left and Harry you're on the right. I'll call you when it's over." And she hurried off downstairs again. Christina and Harry crossed the dingy landing, turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a serpent's head, and opened the door. She caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room, then there was a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and her vision was completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair — Hermione had thrown herself onto her in a hug that nearly knocked her flat, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round their heads.

"CHRISTINA!" and she then noticed Harry behind her, grasping him in a tight hug as well, "And Harry! Ron, they're here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you two alright? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless — but we couldn't tell you guys anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got to tell us — the dementors! When we heard — and that Ministry hearing — it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations —"

"Let them breathe, Hermione," said Ron, grinning, closing the door behind Harry. He seemed to have grown several more inches during their month apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair, and freckles were the same. Hermione, still beaming, let go of Harry, but before she could say another word there was a soft whooshing sound and something white soared from the top of a dark wardrobe and landed gently on Harry's shoulder.

"Hedwig!" The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her feathers. Christina scanned the room and saw Tulip in her cage in the corner of the room, safe and sound.

"She's been in a right state," said Ron about Hedwig. "Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this —" He showed Christina and Harry the index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut.

"Oh yeah," Harry said. "Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know. . . ."

"We wanted to give them to you, mate," said Ron. "Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us —"

"— swear not to tell us," said Harry. "Yeah, Hermione's already said." The friendly atmosphere turned cold and Christina walked over to Hermione and Ron. There was a strained silence in which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others.

"He seemed to think it was best," said Hermione rather breathlessly. "Dumbledore, I mean."

"Right," said Harry. Christina noticed that her hands too bore the marks of Hedwig's beak and Harry didn't seem even remotely remorseful.

"I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —" Ron began.

"Yeah?" said Harry, raising his eyebrows. "Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?" Christina's concerns became legitimate as Harry's face hardened.

"Well, no — but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time —"

"Wait, yeah, was I also being tailed?" Christina asked, now curious. Hermione jumped, apparently unaware that Christina was only a step behind her.

"No, actually-" Ron started.

"Dumbledore said it'd be a waste-"

"-since you can, you know, do your natural power flying and what not. Thought you'd be too hard to. . .track" he finished. Christina laughed and this only seemed to make things worse for Harry.

"Didn't work that well, though, did it?" said Harry. "Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?"

"Well-" said Christina.

"He was so angry," said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. "Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary."

"Well, I'm glad he left," Harry said coldly. "If he hadn't, I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer."

"Aren't you . . . aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?" said Hermione quietly.

"No," Harry said defiantly. He walked away from them, looking around, with Hedwig nestled contentedly on his shoulder.

"So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep us in the dark?" Christina asked casually.

"Did you — er — bother to ask him at all?" Harry added nastily. The way he was talking reminded Christina of the bitter and mean conversation between Harry and Dudley. She didn't like Harry like this, especially not to his best friends.

"We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on," said Ron. "We did. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted —"

"He could still've kept us informed if he'd wanted to," Harry said shortly. "You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls." Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, "I thought that too. But he didn't want you to know anything."

"Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted," said Harry, Christina rolled her eyes and folded her arms.

"Don't be thick," said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.

"Or that I can't take care of myself —"

"Of course he doesn't think that!" said Hermione anxiously.

"So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys' while you two get to join in everything that's going on here? And you get to do whatever you want!" Harry added angrily at Christina, "How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on — ?"

"We're not!" Ron interrupted. "Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young —"

"SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT — WHO SAVED THE SORCERER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?" Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off on top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around their heads.

"WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!" Christina was shocked, she just watched Harry, eyes widened in horror. She also felt incredibly insulted considering she too got past dragons, water demons, and was the one to actually fight Voldemort. Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, while Hermione looked on the verge of tears. Harry continued,

"BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?"

"Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did —" Hermione began.

"CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR —"

"Well, he did —"

"FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON —"

"We wanted to —"

"I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER —"

"No, honest —"

"Harry, we're really sorry!" said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. "You're absolutely right, Harry — I'd be furious if it was me!" Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. Had Christina not just had a breakdown downstairs she would've been more surprised at Harry. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet. It was Christina who broke the silence.

"What is this place anyway?" she asked Ron and Hermione.

"Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," said Ron at once.

"Is anyone going to bother telling us what the Order of the Phoenix — ?" Christina fought the urge to ask Harry to stop including her in his angry questions.

"It's a secret society," said Hermione quickly. "Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-KnowWho last time."

"Who's in it?" said Harry, coming to a halt with his hands in his pockets. "Quite a few people —"

"— we've met about twenty of them," said Ron, "but we think there are more. . . ." There was a brief silence in which Harry just glared at Ron and Hermione.

"Well?" he demanded, looking from one to the other.

"Er," said Ron. "Well what?"

"Voldemort!" said Harry furiously, and both Ron and Hermione winced. "What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?"

"We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings," said Hermione nervously. "So we don't know the details — but we've got a general idea —" she added hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face.

"Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see," said Ron. "They're really useful."

"Where the fuck is Fred?" Christina asked bitterly. She hadn't forgotten that Fred left her for nearly a week without a word of explanation.

"He's around here somewhere. . . " Ron said. Christina rolled her eyes and Harry continued on.

"Extendable — ?"

"Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realized what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know —"

"— some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order —" said Hermione.

"— and some of them are standing guard over something," said Ron. "They're always talking about guard duty."

"Couldn't have been Harry, could it?" said Christina.

"Oh yeah," said Ron, with a look of dawning comprehension. Christina snorted.

"So what have you two been doing, if you're not allowed in meetings?" he demanded. "You said you'd been busy."

"We have," said Hermione quickly. "We've been decontaminating this house, it's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding in here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms, and I think we're doing the drawing room tomo — AARGH!" With two loud cracks, Fred and George, had materialized out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to join Tulip on top of the wardrobe.

"Stop doing that!" Hermione said weakly to the twins, who were as vividly red-haired as Ron. Christina turned heel and pointed at Fred menacingly.

"YOU!"

"Wait-"

"NOPE!" And she grabbed him by the arm and took him through the doorway into the hallway. "What the FUCK Fred?!" she shouted hitting him on the shoulder.

"I know, I know, but I got caught!" he said holding his hands up. Christina hadn't considered this and eyed him suspiciously. She hit him on the arm again.

"And you couldn't leave a note!"

"No, I've been trapped here! Dumbledore told me I wasn't to see you until he would pick you up from your house!" she paused. Dumbledore stopped Fred from visiting her? Why? Fred had been visiting Christina all summer, why would it suddenly change?

"I missed you. . ." said Fred giving her a puppy-dog look, and at that she melted and hugged him tight.

"Alright, let's go be normal people again" Christina said and they walked back into the room, hand-in-hand.

"Hello, Christina," said George, beaming at her. "Thought I heard your dulcet tones."

"Did you not just hear that screaming match from a minute ago?" Christina asked playfully and sat down on a bed with Fred.

"You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out," said Fred, also beaming. "There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you."

"You two passed your Apparation tests, then?" asked Harry grumpily.

"With distinction," said George, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-colored string. "It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," said Ron.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," said Fred. "Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception. Extendable Ears," he added in response to Christina's raised eyebrows, holding up the string, which Christina now saw was trailing out onto the landing.

"We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs."

"You want to be careful," said Ron, staring at the ear. "If Mum sees one of them again . . ."

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having," said Fred. The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared.

"Oh hello, Harry! Glad to see you're back Christina!" said Ron's younger sister, Ginny, brightly. "I thought I heard your voice." Turning to Fred and George she said, "It's no go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" said George, looking crestfallen.

"Tonks told me how to find out," said Ginny. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap." Fred heaved a deep sigh.

"Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."

"Snape?" said Christina and Harry quickly.

"Is he here?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Ginny followed. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," said Fred idly.

"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly. Ron snorted.

"Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us. . . ."

"Bill doesn't like him either," said Ginny, as though that settled the matter.

"Is Bill here?" Christina asked. "I thought he was working in Egypt."

"He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order," said Fred. "He says he misses the tombs, but," he smirked, "there are compensations. . . ."

"What d'you mean?"

"Remember old Fleur Delacour?" said George. "She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove 'er Eeenglish —"

"— and Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons," sniggered Fred.

"Charlie's in the Order too," said George, "but he's still in Romania, Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off."

"Couldn't Percy do that?" Harry asked. Christina knew the answer to this question, Fred had told her over the summer all about Percy and his spot at the ministry. At these words all the Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.

"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron told Harry in a tense voice.

"Why not?"

"Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying," Fred said.

"It's been awful," said Ginny sadly.

"I think we're well shut of him," said George with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

"What's happened?" Harry said.

"Percy and Dad had a row," said Fred. "I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts. . . ."

"It was the first week back after term ended," said Ron. "We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."

"You're kidding?" said Harry. Christina's impression was that Percy had not made a great success of his first job at the Ministry of Magic. Percy had committed the fairly large oversight of failing to notice that his boss was being controlled by Lord Voldemort (not that the Ministry had believed that — they all thought that Mr. Crouch had gone mad).

"Yeah, we were all surprised," said George, "because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realized Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain. . . ."

"So how come they promoted him?"

"That's exactly what we wondered," said Ron, who seemed very keen to keep normal conversation going now that Harry had stopped yelling. "He came home really pleased with himself — even more pleased than usual if you can imagine that — and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts — Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think."

"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred grimly.

"Why not?" said Harry. "Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," said George.

"Dumbledore's name's mud with the Ministry these days, see," said Fred. "They all think he's just making trouble saying You-KnowWho's back."

"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks," said George.

"Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession —"

"But what's this got to do with Percy?" asked Harry, confused.

"I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family — and Dumbledore." Harry let out a low whistle.

"Bet Percy loved that." Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way. "He went completely berserk. He said — well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been — you know — not had a lot of money, I mean —"

"What?" said Harry in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.

"I know," said Ron in a low voice. "And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he — Percy — knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now." Harry swore under his breath.

"Mum's been in a right state," said Ron. "You know — crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work — ignores him, I s'pose."

"But Percy must know Voldemort's back," said Harry slowly. "He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof —"

"Yeah, well, your names got dragged into the row," said Ron, shooting Christina and Harry a furtive look. "Percy said the only evidence was your word and . . . I dunno . . . he didn't think it was good enough."

"Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously," said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded.

"What are you talking about?" Christina asked, looking around at them all. They were all regarding her warily.

"Haven't — haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Yeah, I have!" said Harry. "No. . ." said Christina.

"Have you — er — been reading it thoroughly?" Hermione asked still more anxiously.

"Not cover to cover," said Harry defensively. "If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it!" The others flinched at the sound of the name. Hermione hurried on, "Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they — um — they mention you, Harry, a couple of times a week."

"But I'd have seen —"

"Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn't," said Hermione, shaking her head. "I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke."

"Me too?" Christina was now watching Fred who seemed to have lost his voice.

"Not as much. . .It's quite nasty, actually," said Hermione in a voice of forced calm. "They're just building on Rita's stuff."

"But she's not writing for them anymore, is she?" asked Christina.

"Oh no, she's kept her promise — not that she's got any choice," Hermione added with satisfaction. "But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now."

"Which is what?" said Harry impatiently.

"Okay, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something," said Hermione, very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear these facts quickly. "They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears they say something like 'a tale worthy of Harry Potter' and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's 'let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next —' "

"I don't want anyone to worship —" Harry began hotly.

"I know you don't," said Hermione quickly, looking frightened. "I know, Harry. But you see what they're doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you're just some stupid boy who's a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going."

"I didn't ask — I didn't want — Voldemort killed my parents!" Harry spluttered. "I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't they think I'd rather it'd never —"

"We know, Harry," said Ginny earnestly.

"And of course, they didn't report a word about the dementors attacking you two," said Hermione. "Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really big story, out-of-control dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy — we thought they would, it would tie in so well with this image of Harry as some stupid show-off — we think they're biding their time until you're both expelled, then they're really going to go to town — I mean, if you're expelled, obviously," she went on hastily, "you really shouldn't be, not if they abide by their own laws, there's no case against you." They were back on the hearing and Christina did not want to think about it. She cast around for another change of subject, but was saved the necessity of finding one by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Uh-oh." Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George vanished. Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway. "The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now, everyone's dying to see you two. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?"

"Crookshanks," said Ginny unblushingly. "He loves playing with them."

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley, "I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things like that. Now don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please. . . ." Ginny grimaced at the others and followed her mother out of the room, leaving Christina alone with Harry, Ron and Hermione again. Both of them were watching Christina and Harry apprehensively, as though they feared that he would start shouting again or that she'd blow up the room now that everyone else had gone.

"Look . . ." Harry muttered, but Ron shook his head, and Hermione said quietly, "We knew you'd be angry, Harry, we really don't blame you, but you've got to understand, we did try and persuade Dumbledore —"

"Yeah, I know," said Harry grudgingly.

"Who's Kreacher?" Christina asked.

"The house-elf who lives here," said Ron. "Nutter. Never met one like him." Hermione frowned at Ron.

"He's not a nutter, Ron —"

"His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque just like his mother," said Ron irritably. "Is that normal, Hermione?"

"Well — well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault —" Ron rolled his eyes at Christina. "Hermione still hasn't given up on spew —"

"It's not 'spew'!" said Hermione heatedly. "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, and it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too —"

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. "C'mon, I'm starving." He led the way out of the door and onto the landing, but before they could descend the stairs — "Hold it!" Ron breathed, flinging out an arm to stop Christina, Harry and Hermione walking any farther. "They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something —" The four of them looked cautiously over the banisters. The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards, including all of Christina's guard. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very center of the group Christina saw the dark, greasy-haired head and prominent nose of her least favorite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Christina leaned farther over the banisters. She was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the Phoenix. . . .

A thin piece of flesh-colored string descended in front of Christina's eyes. Looking up she saw Fred and George on the landing above, cautiously lowering the Extendable Ear toward the dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they began to move toward the front door and out of sight.

"Dammit," Christina heard Fred whisper, as he hoisted the Extendable Ear back up again. They heard the front door open and then close.

"Snape never eats here," Ron told Christina and Harry quietly. "Thank God. C'mon."

"And don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall," Hermione whispered. As they passed the row of house-elf heads on the wall they saw Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, and Tonks at the front door, magically sealing its many locks and bolts behind those who had just left.

"We're eating down in the kitchen," Mrs. Weasley whispered, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. "Harry, Christina dear, if you'll just tiptoe across the hall, it's through this door here —" CRASH. "Tonks!" cried Mrs. Weasley exasperatedly, turning to look behind her.

"I'm sorry!" wailed Tonks, who was lying flat on the floor. "It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over —" But the rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, earsplitting, bloodcurdling screech. The moth-eaten velvet curtains Christina had passed earlier had flown apart, but there was no door behind them. For a split second, Christina thought she was looking through a window, a window behind which an old woman in a black cap was screaming and screaming as though she was being tortured — then she realized it was simply a life-size portrait, but the most realistic, and the most unpleasant, she had ever seen in her life. The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed, and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits awoke and began to yell too, so that Christina actually screwed up her eyes at the noise and clapped her hands over her ears. Lupin and Mrs. Weasley darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not close and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.

"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers —" Tonks apologized over and over again, at the same time dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor. Mrs. Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand. Then Sirius came charging out of a door facing Harry.

"Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!" he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs. Weasley had abandoned. The old woman's face blanched. "Yoooou!" she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. "Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"

"I said — shut — UP!" roared Sirius, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again. The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence fell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Sirius, turned to face Harry.

"Hello, Harry," he said grimly, "I see you've met my mother."


	4. Chapter 4: Katherine

"Your-?" Harry started.

"My dear old mum, yeah," said Sirius. "We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let's get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again."

"But what's a portrait of your mother doing here?" Christina asked, bewildered, as they went through the door from the hall and led the way down a flight of narrow stone steps, the others just behind them.

"Hasn't anyone told you? This was my parents' house," said Sirius. "But I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters — about the only useful thing I've been able to do." Christina noted how hard and bitter Sirius's voice sounded. She followed Harry's godfather to the bottom of the stairs and through a door leading into the basement kitchen. It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of the room, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr. Weasley and his eldest son, Bill, were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table. Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, redhaired man, who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.

"Harry and Christina!" Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet them and shaking hands vigorously. "Good to see the both of you!" Over her shoulder Christina saw Bill, who still wore his long hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table.

"Journey all right, Christina?" Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, Harry?"

"He tried," said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately sending a candle toppling onto the last piece of parchment. "Oh no — sorry —"

"Here, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand: In the flash of light caused by Mrs. Weasley's charm, Christina caught a glimpse of what looked like the plan of a building. Mrs. Weasley had seen her looking. She snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill's heavily laden arms.

"This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings," she snapped before sweeping off toward an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates. Bill took out his wand, muttered "Evanesco!" and the scrolls vanished. Sirius approached Christina while Harry greeted Lupin.

"Sit down, Christina," said Sirius. "You've met Mundungus, haven't you?" The thing Christina had taken to be a pile of rags gave a prolonged, grunting snore and then jerked awake.

"Some'n say m' name?" Mundungus mumbled sleepily. "I 'gree with Sirius. . . ." He raised a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused. Ginny giggled.

"The meeting's over, Dung," said Sirius, as they all sat down around him at the table. "Harry and Christina's arrived."

"Eh?" said Mundungus, peering balefully at Christina and Harry through his matted ginger hair. "Blimey, so 'ey 'as. Yeah . . . you all right, 'arry? 'Eard Christin'er had to chase off them dementers. . . "

"Yeah," said Harry miserably. Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand, and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him in seconds.

"Owe you a 'pology," grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.

"For the last time, Mundungus," called Mrs. Weasley, "will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!"

"Ah," said Mundungus. "Right. Sorry, Molly." The cloud of smoke vanished as Mundungus stowed his pipe back in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks lingered.

"And if you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand," Mrs. Weasley said to the room at large. "No, you two can stay where you are, dears, you've had a long journey —"

"What can I do, Molly?" said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forward. Mrs. Weasley hesitated, looking apprehensive. "Er — no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today —"

"No, no, I want to help!" said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurried toward the dresser from which Ginny was collecting cutlery. Soon a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley stirred a cauldron dangling over the fire and the others took out plates, more goblets, and food from the pantry. Christina was left at the table with Harry, Sirius and Mundungus, who was still blinking mournfully at Harry.

"Seen old Figgy since?" he asked.

"No," said Harry, "I haven't seen anyone."

"See, I wouldn't 'ave left," said Mundungus, leaning forward, a pleading note in his voice, "but I 'ad a business opportunity —" Christina felt something brush against her knees and started, but it was only Crookshanks, Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, who wound himself once around Christina's legs, purring, then jumped onto Sirius's lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absentmindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to Harry.

"Had a good summer so far?"

"No, it's been lousy," said Harry.

"Don't know what you're complaining about, myself."

"What?" said Harry incredulously.

"Personally, I'd have welcomed a dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights. . . . I've been stuck inside for a month." Christina laughed but Harry looked troubled.

"How come?" asked Harry, frowning.

"Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix . . . or so Dumbledore feels." There was something about the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore's name that told Christina that Sirius was not very happy with the headmaster either. Christina felt a sudden upsurge of affection for him.

"Well if you like, I can fight you!" Christina joked, Sirius laughed.

"At least you've known what's been going on," Harry added, Sirius' smile fell.

"Oh yeah," said Sirius sarcastically. "Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time . . . asking me how the cleaning's going —"

"What cleaning?" asked Harry.

"Trying to make this place fit for human habitation," said Sirius, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. "No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist, hasn't cleaned anything in ages —"

"Sirius?" said Mundungus, who did not appear to have paid any attention to this conversation, but had been minutely examining an empty goblet. "This solid silver, mate?"

"Yes," said Sirius, surveying it with distaste. "Finest fifteenth century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest."

"That'd come off, though," muttered Mundungus, polishing it with his cuff.

"Fred — George — NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked. Christina, Harry, Sirius, and Mundungus looked around and, a split second later, dived away from the table. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air toward them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface. Without thinking, Christina stopped the flagon of butterbeer midair, just slightly above her face and then froze the bread knife which had slipped off the board. The knife, pointing downward, was floating directly above Sirius' right hand. With Christina's hands in the air she noticed Mundungus and remembered that he didn't know about her natural powers. As he got up from under the table she grabbed the knife from the air which left the flagon of butterbeer to crash, spilling its contents entirely on Christina.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" screamed Mrs. Weasley. "THERE WAS NO NEED — I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS — JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" said Fred, hurrying forward, grabbing Christina from her seat and leading her out of the room but Mr. Weasley moved forward.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, "your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age —"

"— none of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Mrs. Weasley raged at the twins, slamming a fresh flagon of butterbeer onto the table and spilling almost as much again. "Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't Charm everything he met! Percy —" She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden.

"Let's eat," said Bill quickly. Christina looked at Fred with a worried expression but shrugged it off. She sat back down next to Harry and Sirius with Fred across from her.

"It looks wonderful, Molly," said Lupin, ladling stew onto a plate for her and handing it across the table. For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Then Mrs. Weasley turned to Sirius and said,"I've been meaning to tell you, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out."

"Whatever you like," said Sirius indifferently.

"The curtains in there are full of doxies too," Mrs. Weasley went on. "I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," said Sirius. Christina heard the sarcasm in his voice, but she was not sure that anyone else did. As she was finishing her stew, Sirius leaned over to her,

"Nice save, by the way" he said. Christina smiled, if it were Lupin he would have crucified her at the table. But Sirius thought what she could do was very cool, instead of life-threatening and dangerous.

Next to Fred, Tonks was entertaining Hermione and Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with the same pained expression she had worn back in Christina's bedroom, her nose swelled to a beaklike protuberance like Snape's, shrank to something resembling a button mushroom, and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril. Apparently this was a regular mealtime entertainment, because after a while Hermione and Ginny started requesting their favorite noses.

"Do that one like a pig snout, Tonks . . ." Tonks obliged, and Christina, looking up, laughed heartily. Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Lupin were having an intense discussion about goblins.

"They're not giving anything away yet," said Bill. "I still can't work out whether they believe he's back or not. 'Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all. Keep out of it."

"I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who," said Mr. Weasley, shaking his head. "They've suffered losses too. Remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?"

"I think it depends what they're offered," said Lupin. "And I'm not talking about gold; if they're offered freedoms we've been denying them for centuries they're going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?"

"He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment," said Bill. "He hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business, he reckons the Ministry did a cover-up, those goblins never got their gold from him, you know —" A gale of laughter from the middle of the table drowned the rest of Bill's words. Fred, George, Ron, and Mundungus were rolling around in their seats.

". . . and then," choked Mundungus, tears running down his face, "and then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'e says, ' 'ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? 'Cos some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!' And I says, 'Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?' And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back orf me for twice what 'e paid in the first place —"

"I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus," said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forward onto the table, howling with laughter.

"Beg pardon, Molly," said Mundungus at once, wiping his eyes and winking at Christina. "But, you know, Will nicked 'em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong —"

"I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons," said Mrs. Weasley coldly. Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of butterbeer; George was hiccuping. For some reason, Mrs. Weasley threw a very nasty look at Sirius before getting to her feet and going to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for pudding. Christina looked round at him and noticed Harry had seen the look as well.

"Molly doesn't approve of Mundungus," said Sirius in an undertone.

"How come he's in the Order?" Harry said very quietly.

"He's useful," Sirius muttered. "Knows all the crooks — well, he would, seeing as he's one himself. But he's also very loyal to Dumbledore, who helped him out of a tight spot once. It pays to have someone like Dung around, he hears things we don't. But Molly thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far. She hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing you, Harry."

Three helpings of rhubarb crumble and custard later she laid down her spoon in a lull in the general conversation. Mr. Weasley was leaning back in his chair, looking replete and relaxed, Tonks was yawning widely, her nose now back to normal, and Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling butterbeer corks for him to chase.

"Nearly time for bed, I think," said Mrs. Weasley on a yawn.

"Not just yet, Molly," said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at both of you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort." The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity Christina associated with the arrival of dementors. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.

"I did!" said Harry indignantly. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so —"

"And they're quite right," said Mrs. Weasley. "You're too young." She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched upon its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius. "Harry and Christina's been trapped in Muggle houses for a month. They've got the right to know what's been happen —"

"Hang on!" interrupted Fred loudly.

"How come Harry and Christina get questions answered?" said George angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said Fred.

" 'You're too young, you're not in the Order,' " said Fred, in a highpitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's.

"They're not even of age!" added George, but to that comment Fred just looked at Christina, who she hoped knew everything she found out she'd tell him immediately.

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," said Sirius calmly. "That's your parents' decision. These two, on the other hand —"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Christina, Sirius" said Lupin quickly. "As her guardian-" Mrs. Weasley butted in, her normally kindly face looked dangerous.

"You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?" she said dangerously to Sirius.

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but with an air as though readying himself for a fight.

"The bit about not telling them more than they need to know," said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words. Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George's heads turned from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin's eyes were fixed on Sirius.

"I don't intend to tell them more than they need to know, Molly," said Sirius. "But as they were the ones who saw Voldemort come back and Christina was the one to fight him" (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name), "they have more right than most to —"

"They're not members of the Order of the Phoenix!" said Mrs. Weasley. "They're only twenty-one and —"

"— and they've dealt with as much as most in the Order," said Sirius, "and more than some —"

"No one's denying what they've done!" said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. "But they're still —"

"They're not children, Molly!" said Sirius impatiently.

"They're not adults either!" said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. "Harry's not James, Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear who Harry is, thanks, Molly," said Sirius coldly.

"I'm not sure you are!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" said Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!" said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. "You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" demanded Sirius, his voice rising.

"Meaning you've been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and —"

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!" said Sirius loudly.

"Arthur!" said Mrs. Weasley, rounding on her husband. "Arthur, back me up!" Mr. Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he say, "Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that they will have to be filled in to a certain extent now that they are staying at headquarters —"

"Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting them to ask whatever they like!"

"Personally," said Lupin quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs. Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally, "I think it better that Christina and Harry get the facts — not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture — from us, rather than a garbled version from . . . others." His expression was mild, but Christina felt sure that Lupin, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs. Weasley's purge.

"Well," said Mrs. Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, "well . . . I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Christina and Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has got their best interests at heart —"

"He's not your son," said Sirius quietly.

"He's as good as," said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. "Who else has he got?"

"He's got me!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley, her lip curling. "The thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?" Sirius started to rise from his chair but Christina sunk into hers. Harry was so lucky to have Sirius so fiercly loyal to him, she only wished Mrs. Weasley and Sirius felt the same way about Christina. She felt tears swell up in her eyes but refused to let them fall.

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," said Lupin sharply. "Sirius, sit down." Mrs. Weasley's lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white.

"I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this," Lupin continued. "He's old enough to decide for himself. And Christina!"

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry said at once. Christina did not say anything, she assumed no one wanted to hear what questions she had. Why would anyone want to listen to her when they had sweet and innocent Harry, new best friend to Sirius and 'as good as' a new son to Mrs. Weasley. Her bottom lip quivered.

"Very well," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice cracking. "Ginny — Ron — Hermione — Fred — George — I want you out of this kitchen, now." There was instant uproar.

"We're of age!" Fred and George bellowed together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" shouted Ron.

"Mum, I want to!" wailed Ginny.

"NO!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. "I absolutely forbid —"

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," said Mr. Weasley wearily. "They are of age —"

"They're still at school —"

"But they're legally adults now," said Mr. Weasley in the same tired voice. Mrs. Weasley was now scarlet in the face.

"I — oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron —"

"Harry and Christina'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" said Ron hotly. "Won't — won't you?" he added uncertainly, Christina didn't look up.

" 'Course I will," Harry said. Ron and Hermione beamed. "Fine!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Fine! Ginny — BED!" Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Mrs. Black's earsplitting shrieks were added to the din. Lupin hurried off to the portrait to restore calm. It was only after he had returned, closing the kitchen door behind him and taking his seat at the table again, that Sirius spoke.

"Okay, Harry . . . what do you want to know?" and at that Christina left. She shot through the walls in a cloud of dust and went to the attic. She couldn't sit and listen to Harry and his support system give him answers to questions that would only fuel his rage even more. Why are they even being nice to Harry? After screaming at Ron and Hermione and snapping at everyone? And they treat him like he's this perfect star child, Christina hated it. Hated every second of it, but she also wanted to listen to what was going on. . . so she left the attic and sat in the in-between wall between the kitchen and the dining room. Hiding as a small rock.

"-Harry is my godson! Of course I'm going to fight for him, and you should've done the same for her!" it sounded as though Sirius was yelling at someone, but who?

"This is why we can't tell her anything, she's too intense, if she knew You-Know-Who's location she'd fly right to him!" Lupin added.

"She's not an idiot, Remus!

"She's not in control either!"

"Christina just needs to practice her-" Hermione added.

"Practice! That's the last thing she needs to do, she needs to learn how to control her emotions first-" Lupin continued but Sirius got even angrier.

"You are unbelievable, you're the reason why she was so upset earlier. You're making her feel like an outcast. She thinks she's a freak because of how you treat her-"

"Because of how I treat her? Sirius, I asked her politely a month ago if she had shown You-Know-Who her powers and she shot me through doorway and into a railing! That's not normal!"

"You're such a hypocrite! How can you chastise her for being different when you change physical form once a month?"

"ENOUGH!" Mrs. Weasley cried out. "Can someone please go find her? I'm sure she's upstairs. We're not having this conversation without her here." Christina heard the scrape of a chair move back and then heard another,

"I'll go. She seems to respond well to 'You're not hated, despite what you constantly hear from your closest family member' "

"Sirius!" Lupin started.

"You should be ashamed! What would Katherine say?" the whole room went silent at Sirius' comment. It was the first time Christina had heard anyone in over two years talk about her mother and use her name. She decided it was time, and she reassembled herself and stood in the door-frame, Mrs. Weasley was the first one to notice and jumped slightly from surprise. No one said anything. Christina felt it was the perfect time to prove herself. One thing Christina had mastered was creating new elements from rock, she was great at chemistry and composition. She lifted the silver goblet over the table and crushed it down to a misshapen orb, then, focusing her energy into the silver she recomposed it to be sapphire,

"I'm not a freak-" Christina changed the sapphire into an emerald, "-I'm just different." she focused on and turned it into a diamond, "My mom was different too." and the misshapen diamond orb turned into gold. Christina shaped the gold into a pocket watch and let it fall on the table. She slid it toward Lupin,

"Keep it."

"Christina, I-" Lupin rose in his chair to speak but Christina pressed on, ready to put this conversation, and Lupin, behind her. She sat down and looked at Sirius who seemed quite pleased with her demonstration,

"Where's Voldemort?"


	5. Chapter 5: Tapestry

"What's he doing? According to Harry there hasn't been anything that looks like Voldemort yet, no funny deaths or anything —"

"That's because there haven't been any suspicious deaths yet," said Sirius, "not as far as we know, anyway. . . . And we know quite a lot."

"More than he thinks we do anyway," said Lupin.

"How come he's stopped killing people?" Harry asked. Christina knew that Voldemort had murdered more than once in the last year alone.

"Because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself at the moment," said Sirius. "It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."

"Or rather, you two messed it up for him," said Lupin with a satisfied smile.

"How?" Harry asked perplexedly.

"You weren't supposed to survive!" said Sirius. "Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he'd come back. But you survived to bear witness."

"And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore," said Lupin. "And you two made sure Dumbledore knew at once."

"How has that helped?" Christina asked.

"Are you kidding?" said Bill incredulously. "Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!"

"Thanks to you two, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned," said Sirius.

"So what's the Order been doing?" said Harry, looking around at them all.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," said Sirius.

"How d'you know what his plans are?" Christina asked quickly.

"Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea," said Lupin, "and Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate."

"So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?" Christina asked again, somewhat fretting the answer.

"Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again," said Sirius. "In the old days he had huge numbers at his command; witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one group he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"

"We're doing our best," said Lupin.

"How?" asked Harry.

"Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard," said Bill. "It's proving tricky, though."

"Why?"

"Because of the Ministry's attitude," said Tonks. "You both saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back. Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened."

"But why?" said Harry desperately.

"Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore —" asked Christina.

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," said Mr. Weasley with a wry smile. "Dumbledore."

"Fudge is frightened of him, you see," said Tonks sadly.

"Frightened of Dumbledore?" said Harry incredulously.

"Frightened of what he's up to," said Mr. Weasley. "You see, Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister of Magic."

"But Dumbledore doesn't want —"

"Of course he doesn't," said Mr. Weasley. "He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job."

"Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice," said Lupin. "But it seems that he's become fond of power now, and much more confident. He loves being Minister of Magic, and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it."

"How can he think that?" said Christina angrily. "How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up — that I'd make it all up?"

"Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years," said Sirius bitterly. "Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilize him."

"You see the problem," said Lupin. "While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort, it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumormongering, so most of the Wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

"But you're telling people, aren't you?" said Harry, looking around at Mr. Weasley, Sirius, Bill, Mundungus, Lupin, and Tonks. "You're letting people know he's back?" They all smiled humorlessly.

"Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mad mass murderer and the Ministry's put a ten-thousand-Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?" said Sirius restlessly.

"And I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community," said Lupin. "It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf."

"Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off," said Sirius, "and it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them."

"We've managed to convince a couple of people, though," said Mr. Weasley. "Tonks here, for one — she's too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage — Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset too. He's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet."

"But if none of you's putting the news out that Voldemort's back —" Harry began.

"Who said none of us was putting the news out?" said Sirius. "Why d'you think Dumbledore's in such trouble?"

"What d'you mean?" Christina asked.

"They're trying to discredit him," said Lupin. "Didn't you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true, he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot — that's the Wizard High Court — and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too."

"But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog cards," said Bill, grinning.

"It's no laughing matter," said Mr. Weasley shortly. "If he carries on defying the Ministry like this, he could end up in Azkaban and the last thing we want is Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to, he's going to go cautiously for a while. If Dumbledore's out of the way — well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field."

"But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters, it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?" asked Christina desperately.

"Voldemort doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors," said Sirius. "He tricks, jinxes, and blackmails them. He's well-practiced at operating in secrecy. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in, he's got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on them at the moment."

"What's he after apart from followers?" Harry asked swiftly. Christina thought she saw Sirius and Lupin exchange the most fleeting of looks before Sirius said, "Stuff he can only get by stealth." When Christina and Harry continued to look puzzled, Sirius said, "Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."

"When he was powerful before?"

"Yes."

"Like what kind of weapon?" said Christina. "Something worse than the Avada Kedavra — ?"

"That's enough." Mrs. Weasley spoke from the shadows beside the door. Christina had not noticed her return from taking Ginny upstairs. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious. "I want you in bed, now. All of you," she added, looking around at Fred, George, Ron, and Hermione.

"You can't boss us —" Fred began. "Watch me," snarled Mrs. Weasley. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius.

"You've given them plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct them into the Order straightaway."

"Why not?" said Harry quickly.

"I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight —" Christina added.

"No." It was not Mrs. Weasley who spoke this time, but Lupin. "The Order is comprised only of overage wizards," he said. "Wizards who have left school," he added, as Fred and George opened their mouths. "There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you . . . I think Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough." Sirius half-shrugged but did not argue. Mrs. Weasley beckoned imperiously to her sons and Hermione. One by one they stood up and Christina, recognizing defeat, followed suit.

Mrs. Weasley followed them upstairs looking grim.

"I want you all to go straight to bed, no talking," she said as they reached the first landing. "We've got a busy day tomorrow. I expect Ginny's asleep," she added to Christina and Hermione, "so try not to wake her up."

Christina and Hermione reached their door and waved everyone goodnight. Fred winked at Christina and then shuffled off with the rest of the boys and Mrs. Weasley.

The bedroom looked, if anything, even danker and gloomier than Harry and Ron's room. The blank picture on the wall was now breathing very slowly and deeply, as though its invisible occupant was asleep. Ginny was sitting on her bed looking at the girls for any and all information.

"We're not supposed to talk, Mrs. Weasley-"

"Christina, what happened?" asked Ginny.

"Nothing you couldn't have guessed" Christina put on her pajama and climbed into her chilly bed while Hermione folded her day clothes. Once she finished she crossed to the door and bolted it shut.

"What're you doing that for?" Christina whispered.

"Kreacher," said Hermione as he turned off the light. "He likes o go through-"

"You're really not going to tell me?" Ginny asked incredulously. Christina smiled "Voldemort's back, we're looking for him, he's not killing random people, he's looking for something, I'm assuming it's Harry or me"

And at that Hermione got into her bed, settled down under the covers while Ginny sat open mouthed at Christina.

"That's it?"

"That's it." finished .

"OUCH!"

"Keep your voice down, Christina, or Mum'll be back up here." said George.

"You two just Apparated on my knees!" she angrily whispered back.

"Yeah, well, it's harder in the dark —" Christina pushed the blurred outlines of Fred and George from her bed. There was a groan of bedsprings and Christina's mattress descended a few inches as Fred sat down near her arms and George by her feet.

"So, got there yet?" said George eagerly.

"The weapon Sirius mentioned?" said Hermione.

"It's a weapon?" asked Ginny eagerly.

"Let slip, more like," said Fred with relish to Hermione.

"We didn't hear about that on the old Extendables, did we?" added George.

"What d'you reckon it is?" said Fred to Christina.

"Well, I figured they were referring to me . . ." Fred and George laughed.

"You?"

"Hate to break this to you Christina, but you're a person" George added. Christina sat up in her bed.

"But think about it! Something he didn't have last time, Voldemort had everything at his will but he didn't have some natural power cannon doing his bidding!" said Christina in a forced whisper. The joking atmosphere turned serious, it did make some sense.

"But why would they refer to you as a weapon?" asked Hermione.

"Same reason the second it was brought up, your mum went ballistic" added Christina to Fred and George. Fred shook his head.

"Could be anything," said Fred.

"But there can't be anything worse than the Avada Kedavra curse, can there?" said Ginny. "What's worse than death?"

"Maybe it's something that can kill loads of people at once," suggested George.

"Maybe it's some particularly painful way of killing people," said Ginny fearfully.

"He's got the Cruciatus Curse for causing pain," said Hermione.

"He doesn't need anything more efficient than that." said Christina darkly. There was a pause and Christina knew that the others were wondering what horrors this weapon could perpetrate.

"So who d'you thinks got it now?" asked George.

"I hope it's our side," said Christina, sounding slightly nervous.

"If it is, Dumbledore's probably keeping it," said Fred.

"Where?" said Ginny quickly. "Hogwarts?"

"Bet it is!" said George. "That's where he hid the Sorcerer's Stone!"

"A weapon's going to be a lot bigger than the Stone, though!" said Hermione.

"Still sounds like me . . ." Fred ignored the thought that his girlfriend was being targeted to be used as a weapon.

"Not necessarily," said Fred.

"Yeah, size is no guarantee of power," said George. "Look at Ginny." They laughed.

"Shhh!" said Fred, half-rising from the bed. "Listen!" They fell silent. Footsteps were coming up the stairs again.

"Mum," said George, and without further ado there was a loud crack and Christina felt the weight vanish from her bed. A few seconds later and they heard the floorboard creak outside their door; Mrs. Weasley was plainly listening to see whether they were talking or not. The floorboard creaked again and they heard her heading upstairs to check on Fred and George.

"She doesn't trust us at all, you know," said Ginny regretfully. Christina was sure she would not be able to fall asleep; the evening had been so packed with things to think about that she fully expected to lie awake for hours mulling it all over. She wanted to continue talking to Hermione, but Mrs. Weasley was now creaking back downstairs again, and once she had gone Christina distinctly heard others making their way upstairs. . . . In fact, many-legged creatures were cantering softly up and down outside the bedroom door, and Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, was saying,

"Beauties, aren' they, eh, Christineh? We'll be studyin' weapons this term. . . ." And Christina saw that the creatures had cannons for heads and were wheeling to face her. . . . She ducked. . . . The next thing she knew, she was curled in a warm ball under her bedclothes, and George's loud voice was filling the room.

"Mum says get up, your breakfast is in the kitchen and then she needs you in the drawing room, there are loads more doxies than she thought and she's found a nest of dead puffskeins under the sofa." Half an hour later, Christina, Hermione, and Ginny who had dressed and breakfasted quickly, entered the drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was around these that Mrs. Weasley, Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were grouped, all looking rather peculiar, as they had tied cloths over their noses and mouths. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.

"Cover your faces and take a spray," Mrs. Weasley said to Christina, Hermione and Ginny the moment she saw them, pointing to three more bottles of black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table. "It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad — what that house-elf's been doing for the last ten years —" Hermione's face was half concealed by a tea towel but Christina distinctly saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs. Weasley at these words.

"Kreacher's really old, he probably couldn't manage —"

"You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione," said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. "I've just been feeding Buckbeak," he added, in reply to Christina's inquiring look. "I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway . . . this writing desk . . ." He dropped the bag of rats onto an armchair, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which, Christina now noticed for the first time, was shaking slightly.

"Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a boggart," said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, "but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out — knowing my mother it could be something much worse."

"Right you are, Sirius," said Mrs. Weasley. They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told Christina quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement of the night before. A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been triggered the previous night by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.

"I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!" said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying back out of the room. They heard him thundering down the stairs as Mrs. Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more: "Stains of dishonor, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth . . ."

"Close the door, please, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley. Harry closed the drawing room door. Mrs. Weasley was bending over to check the page on doxies in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, which was lying open on the sofa. "Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because doxies bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it." She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains, and beckoned them all forward. "When I say the word, start spraying immediately," she said. "They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyze them. When they're immobilized, just throw them in this bucket." She stepped carefully out of their line of fire and raised her own spray.

"All right — squirt!" Christina had been spraying only a few seconds when a fully grown doxy came soaring out of a fold in the material, shiny beetlelike wings whirring, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared, its fairylike body covered with thick black hair and its four tiny fists clenched with fury. Christina caught it full in the face with a blast of Doxycide; it froze in midair and fell, with a surprisingly loud thunk, onto the worn carpet below. Christina picked it up and threw it in the bucket.

"Fred, what are you doing?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. "Spray that at once and throw it away!" Christina looked around. Fred was holding a struggling doxy between his forefinger and thumb.

"Right-o," Fred said brightly, spraying the doxy quickly in the face so that it fainted, but the moment Mrs. Weasley's back was turned he pocketed it with a wink. "We want to experiment with doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes," George told Christina under his breath. Deftly spraying two doxies at once as they soared straight for his nose, Christina moved closer to George and muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "What are Skiving Snackboxes?"

"Range of sweets to make you ill," George whispered, keeping a wary eye on Mrs. Weasley's back. "Not seriously ill, mind, just ill enough to get you out of a class when you feel like it. Fred and I have been developing them this summer. They're double-ended, colorcoded chews. If you eat the orange half of the Puking Pastilles, you throw up. Moment you've been rushed out of the lesson for the hospital wing, you swallow the purple half —"

" '— which restores you to full fitness, enabling you to pursue the leisure activity of your own choice during an hour that would otherwise have been devoted to unprofitable boredom.' That's what we're putting in the adverts, anyway," whispered Fred, who had edged over out of Mrs. Weasley's line of vision and was now sweeping a few stray doxies from the floor and adding them to his pocket.

"But they still need a bit of work. At the moment our testers are having a bit of trouble stopping puking long enough to swallow the purple end."

"Testers?"

"Us," said Fred. "We take it in turns. George did the Fainting Fancies — we both tried the Nosebleed Nougat —"

"Mum thought we'd been dueling," said George.

"Joke shop still on, then?" Harry joined in, pretending to be adjusting the nozzle on his spray.

"Well, we haven't had a chance to get premises yet," said Fred, dropping his voice even lower as Mrs. Weasley mopped her brow with her scarf before returning to the attack, "so we're running it as a mailorder service at the moment. We put advertisements in the Daily Prophet last week."

"All thanks to you, mate," said George to Christina. "But don't worry . . . Mum hasn't got a clue. She won't read the Daily Prophet anymore, 'cause of it telling lies about you and Dumbledore." Christina grinned. She had forced the Weasley twins to take the thousand-Galleon prize money she had won in the Triwizard Tournament to help them realize their ambition to open a joke shop, but she was still glad to know that her part in furthering their plans was unknown to Mrs. Weasley, who did not think that running a joke shop was a suitable career for two of her sons.

The de-doxying of the curtains took most of the morning. It was past midday when Mrs. Weasley finally removed her protective scarf, sank into a sagging armchair, and sprang up again with a cry of disgust, having sat on the bag of dead rats. The curtains were no longer buzzing; they hung limp and damp from the intensive spraying; unconscious doxies lay crammed in the bucket at the foot of them beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crookshanks was now sniffing and Fred and George were shooting covetous looks. "I think we'll tackle those after lunch." Mrs. Weasley pointed at the dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantelpiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects: a selection of rusty daggers, claws, a coiled snakeskin, a number of tarnished silver boxes inscribed with languages Christina could not understand and, least pleasant of all, an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of what Christina was quite sure was blood. The clanging doorbell rang again. Everyone looked at Mrs. Weasley.

"Stay here," she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs. Blacks screeches started up again from down below. "I'll bring up some sandwiches." She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone dashed over to the window to look down onto the doorstep. They could see the top of an unkempt gingery head and a stack of precariously balanced cauldrons.

"Mundungus!" said Hermione. "What's he brought all those cauldrons for?"

"Probably looking for a safe place to keep them," said Harry. "Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing me? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?"

"Yeah, you're right!" said Fred, as the front door opened; Mundungus heaved his cauldrons through it and disappeared from view. "Blimey, Mum won't like that. . . ." He and George crossed to the door and stood beside it, listening intently. Mrs. Black's screaming had stopped again.

"Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley," Fred muttered, frowning with concentration. "Can't hear properly . . . d'you reckon we can risk the Extendable Ears?"

"Might be worth it," said George. "I could sneak upstairs and get a pair —" But at that precise moment there was an explosion of sound from downstairs that rendered Extendable Ears quite unnecessary. All of them could hear exactly what Mrs. Weasley was shouting at the top of her voice.

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!"

"I love hearing Mum shouting at someone else," said Fred, with a satisfied smile on his face as he opened the door an inch or so to allow Mrs. Weasley's voice to permeate the room better. "It makes such a nice change."

"— COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE —"

"The idiots are letting her get into her stride," said George, shaking his head. "You've got to head her off early, otherwise she builds up a head of steam and goes on for hours. And she's been dying to have a go at Mundungus ever since he sneaked off when he was supposed to be following you, Harry — and there goes Sirius's mum again —" Mrs. Weasley's voice was lost amid fresh shrieks and screams from the portraits in the hall. George made to shut the door to drown the noise, but before he could do so, a house-elf edged into the room. Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike. The elf took absolutely no notice of Christina and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, toward the far end of the room, muttering under its breath all the while in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's,

". . . Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my Mistress's house, oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do. . . ."

"Hello, Kreacher," said Fred very loudly, closing the door with a snap. The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and then gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise. "Kreacher did not see Young Master," he said, turning around and bowing to Fred. Still facing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."

"Sorry?" said George. "Didn't catch that last bit."

"Kreacher said nothing," said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, "and there's its twin, unnatural little beasts they are." Christina didn't know whether to laugh or not. The elf straightened up, eyeing them all very malevolently, and apparently convinced that they could not hear him as he continued to mutter. ". . . and there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh if my Mistress knew, oh how she'd cry, and there's a new pair, Kreacher doesn't know their names, what are they doing here, Kreacher doesn't know . . ."

"This is Harry, Kreacher, and Christina" said Hermione tentatively. "Harry Potter and Christina Bataskill." Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever.

"The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's Mistress saw him in such company, oh what would she say —"

"Don't call her a Mudblood!" said Ron and Ginny together, very angrily.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispered, "he's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's —"

"Don't kid yourself, Hermione, he knows exactly what he's saying," said Fred, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike. Kreacher was still muttering, his eyes on Christina and Harry.

"Is it true? Is it Harry Potter and Christina Bataskill? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's those children who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how they did it —"

"Don't we all, Kreacher?" said Fred. "What do you want anyway?" George asked. Kreacher's huge eyes darted onto George. "Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.

"A likely story," said a voice behind Christina. Sirius had come back; he was glowering at the elf from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; perhaps Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus had moved their argument down into the kitchen. At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snoutlike nose on the floor.

"Stand up straight," said Sirius impatiently. "Now, what are you up to?"

"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf repeated. "Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black —"

"— and it's getting blacker every day, it's filthy," said Sirius. "Master always liked his little joke," said Kreacher, bowing again, and continuing in an undertone, "Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart —"

"My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher," Sirius snapped. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite." Kreacher bowed again and said, "Whatever Master says," then muttered furiously, "Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was —"

"I asked you what you were up to," said Sirius coldly. "Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning, you sneak something off to your room so we can't throw it out."

"Kreacher would never move anything from its proper place in Master's house," said the elf, then muttered very fast, "Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it's been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors and the brats destroy it —"

"I thought it might be that," said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. "She'll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don't doubt, but if I can get rid of it I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher." It seemed that Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was redolent of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room.

"— comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he's back, they say he's a murderer too —"

"Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!" said Sirius irritably, and he slammed the door shut on the elf.

"Sirius, he's not right in the head," said Hermione pleadingly, "I don't think he realizes we can hear him."

"He's been alone too long," said Sirius, "taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little —"

"If you just set him free," said Hermione hopefully, "maybe —"

"We can't set him free, he knows too much about the Order," said Sirius curtly. "And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house, see how he takes it." Sirius walked across the room, where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. Christina and the others followed. The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxies had gnawed it in places; nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as Christina could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black"Toujours Pur"

"You're not on here!" said Christina, after scanning the bottom of the tree.

"I used to be there," said Sirius, pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn. "My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home — Kreacher's quite fond of muttering the story under his breath."

"You ran away from home?" asked Harry.

"When I was about sixteen," said Sirius. "I'd had enough."

"Where did you go?" asked Harry, staring at him.

"Your dad's place," said Sirius. "Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dad's during the school holidays, and then when I was seventeen I got a place of my own, my Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold — he's been wiped off here too, that's probably why — anyway, after that I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Potter's for Sunday lunch, though."

"But . . . why did you . . . ?" Christina started.

"Leave?" Sirius smiled bitterly and ran a hand through his long, unkempt hair. "Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal . . . my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them . . . that's him." Sirius jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name regulus black. A date of death (some fifteen years previously) followed the date of birth.

"He was younger than me," said Sirius, "and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."

"But he died," said Harry.

"Yeah," said Sirius. "Stupid idiot . . . he joined the Death Eaters."

"You're kidding!" said Christina, shocked.

"Come on, Christina, haven't you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family were?" said Sirius testily.

"Were — were your parents Death Eaters as well?"

"No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the Wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having purebloods in charge. They weren't alone either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colors, who thought he had the right idea about things. . . . They got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first."

"Was he killed by an Auror?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Oh no," said Sirius. "No, he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely, I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death."

"Lunch," said Mrs. Weasley's voice. She was holding her wand high in front of her, balancing a huge tray loaded with sandwiches and cake on its tip. She was very red in the face and still looked angry. The others moved over to her, eager for some food, but Christina and Harry remained with Sirius, who had bent closer to the tapestry.

"I haven't looked at this for years. There's Phineas Nigellus . . . my great-great-grandfather, see? Least popular headmaster Hogwarts ever had . . . and Araminta Meliflua . . . cousin of my mother's . . . tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal . . . and dear Aunt Elladora . . . she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays . . . of course, anytime the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned. I see Tonks isn't on here. Maybe that's why Kreacher won't take orders from her — he's supposed to do whatever anyone in the family asks him. . . ."

"You and Tonks are related?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Oh yeah, her mother, Andromeda, was my favorite cousin," said Sirius, examining the tapestry carefully. "No, Andromeda's not on here either, look —" He pointed to another small round burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narcissa. "Andromeda's sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pure-blood marriages, but Andromeda married a Muggleborn, Ted Tonks, so —" Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly. Christina and Harry, however, did not laugh; Christina was too busy staring at the names to the right of Andromeda's burn mark. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy, and a single vertical gold line from their names led to the name Draco.

"You're related to the Malfoys!" pointed Christina.

"The pure-blood families are all interrelated," said Sirius. "If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry purebloods your choice is very limited, there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur's something like my second cousin once removed. But there's no point looking for them on here — if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it's the Weasleys." But Christina was now looking at the name to the left of Andromeda's burn: Bellatrix Black, which was connected by a double line to Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Lestrange . . ." Christina said aloud. The name had stirred something in her memory; she knew it from somewhere, but for a moment she couldn't think where, though it gave her an odd, creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"They're in Azkaban," said Sirius shortly. Christina looked at him curiously. "Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch, Junior," said Sirius in the same brusque voice. "Rodolphus's brother, Rabastan, was with them too." And Christina remembered: She and Harry had seen Bellatrix Lestrange inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the strange device in which thoughts and memories could be stored: a tall dark woman with heavy-lidded eyes, who had stood at her trial and proclaimed her continuing allegiance to Lord Voldemort, her pride that she had tried to find him after his downfall and her conviction that she would one day be rewarded for her loyalty.

"You never said she was your —" said Harry, the realization dawning on him as well.

"Does it matter if she's my cousin?" snapped Sirius. "As far as I'm concerned, they're not my family. She's certainly not my family. I haven't seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming in to Azkaban. D'you think I'm proud of having relatives like her?"

"Sorry," said Christina and Harry quickly,

"I didn't mean — I was just surprised, that's all —" added Harry.

"It doesn't matter, don't apologize," Sirius mumbled at once. He turned away from the tapestry, his hands deep in his pockets. "I don't like being back here," he said, staring across the drawing room. "I never thought I'd be stuck in this house again."

"It's ideal for headquarters, of course," Sirius said. "My father put every security measure known to Wizard-kind on it when he lived here. It's Unplottable, so Muggles could never come and call — as if they'd have wanted to — and now Dumbledore's added his protection, you'd be hard put to find a safer house anywhere. Dumbledore's Secret-Keeper for the Order, you know — nobody can find headquarters unless he tells them personally where it is — that note Moody showed you last night, that was from Dumbledore. . . ." Sirius gave a short, barklike laugh. "If my parents could see the use it was being put to now . . . well, my mother's portrait should give you some idea. . . ." He scowled for a moment, then sighed. "I wouldn't mind if I could just get out occasionally and do something useful. I've asked Dumbledore whether I can escort you two to your hearing — as Snuffles, obviously — so I can give you a bit of moral support, what d'you think?" Christina felt as though her stomach had sunk through the dusty carpet. She had not thought about the hearing once since dinner the previous evening; in the excitement of being back with the people she liked best, of hearing everything that was going on, it had completely flown her mind. At Sirius's words, however, the crushing sense of dread returned to her. She stared at Hermione and the Weasleys, all tucking into their sandwiches, and thought how she would feel if they went back to Hogwarts without her.

"Don't worry," Sirius said. Christina looked up and realized that Sirius had been watching a silent Christina and Harry. "I'm sure they're going to clear you, there's definitely something in the International Statute of Secrecy about being allowed to use magic to save your own life."

"But if they do expel me," said Harry, quietly, "can I come back here and live with you?" Sirius smiled sadly.

"We'll see."

"I'd feel a lot better about the hearing if I knew I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys," Harry pressed him.

"They must be bad if you prefer this place," said Sirius gloomily.

"Hurry up, you three, or there won't be any food left," Mrs. Weasley called. Sirius heaved another great sigh, cast a dark look at the tapestry, and she, Sirius and Harry went to join the others. Christina tried her best not to think about the hearing while they emptied the glass cabinets that afternoon. Fortunately for her, it was a job that required a lot of concentration, as many of the objects in there seemed very reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. Sirius sustained a bad bite from a silver snuffbox; within seconds, his bitten hand had developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove.

"It's okay," he said, examining the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand and restoring its skin to normal, "must be Wartcap powder in there." He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets; Christina saw George wrap his own hand carefully in a cloth moments later and sneak the box into his already doxy-filled pocket. They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Christina's arm like a spider when she picked it up, and attempted to puncture her skin; Fred seized it and smashed it with a heavy book entitled Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut; also a heavy locket that none of them could open, a number of ancient seals and, in a dusty box, an Order of Merlin, First Class, that had been awarded to Sirius's grandfather for "Services to the Ministry."

"It means he gave them a load of gold," said Sirius contemptuously, throwing the medal into the rubbish sack. Several times, Kreacher sidled into the room and attempted to smuggle things away under his loincloth, muttering horrible curses every time they caught him at it. When Sirius wrested a large golden ring bearing the Black crest from his grip Kreacher actually burst into furious tears and left the room sobbing under his breath and calling Sirius names Christina had never heard before.

"It was my father's," said Sirius, throwing the ring into the sack. "Kreacher wasn't quite as devoted to him as to my mother, but I still caught him snogging a pair of my father's old trousers last week."

Mrs. Weasley kept them all working very hard over the next few days. The drawing room took three days to decontaminate; finally the only undesirable things left in it were the tapestry of the Black family tree, which resisted all their attempts to remove it from the wall, and the rattling writing desk; Moody had not dropped by headquarters yet, so they could not be sure what was inside it. They moved from the drawing room to a dining room on the ground floor where they found spiders large as saucers lurking in the dresser (Ron left the room hurriedly to make a cup of tea and did not return for an hour and a half). The china, which bore the Black crest and motto, was all thrown unceremoniously into a sack by Sirius, and the same fate met a set of old photographs in tarnished silver frames, all of whose occupants squealed shrilly as the glass covering them smashed. Snape might refer to their work as "cleaning," but in Christina's opinion they were really waging war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Kreacher. The house-elf kept appearing wherever they were congregated, his muttering becoming more and more offensive as he attempted to remove anything he could from the rubbish sacks. Sirius went as far as to threaten him with clothes, but Kreacher fixed him with a watery stare and said, "Master must do as Master wishes," before turning away and muttering very loudly, "but Master will not turn Kreacher away, no, because Kreacher knows what they are up to, oh yes, he is plotting against the Dark Lord, yes, with these Mudbloods and traitors and scum. . . ." At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione's protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room.

The doorbell rang several times a day, which was the cue for Sirius's mother to start shrieking again, and for Christina and the others to attempt to eavesdrop on the visitor, though they gleaned very little from the brief glimpses and snatches of conversation they were able to sneak before Mrs. Weasley recalled them to their tasks. Snape flitted in and out of the house several times more, though to Christina's relief they never came face-to-face; she also caught sight of her Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, looking very odd in a Muggle dress and coat, though she also seemed too busy to linger. Sometimes, however, the visitors stayed to help; Tonks joined them for a memorable afternoon in which they found a murderous old ghoul lurking in an upstairs toilet, and Lupin, who was staying in the house with Sirius but who left it for long periods to do mysterious work for the Order, helped them repair a grandfather clock that had developed the unpleasant habit of shooting heavy bolts at passersby. Mundungus redeemed himself slightly in Mrs. Weasley's eyes by rescuing Ron from an ancient set of purple robes that had tried to strangle him when he removed them from their wardrobe.

Despite the fact that she was still sleeping badly, still having dreams about corridors and locked doors that made her scar prickle, Christina was managing to have fun for the first time all summer. As long as she was busy she was happy; when the action abated, however, whenever she dropped her guard, or lay exhausted in bed watching blurred shadows move across the ceiling, the thought of the looming Ministry hearing returned to her. Fear jabbed at her insides like needles as she wondered what was going to happen to her if she was expelled. The idea was so terrible that she did not dare voice it aloud, not even to Ron and Hermione, who, though she often saw them whispering together and casting anxious looks in her direction, followed her lead in not mentioning it. Sometimes she could not prevent her imagination showing her a faceless Ministry official who was snapping her wand in two and ordering her back to America . . . but she would not go. She was determined on that. She would either sneak into Hogwarts and live in the Room of Requirement with visits from Fred or would live at Grimmauld Place. That seemed to be Harry's plan, to stay with his godfather.

She felt as though a brick had dropped into her stomach when Mrs. Weasley turned to her during dinner on Wednesday evening and said quietly, "I've ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Christina, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair tonight too. A good first impression can work wonders." Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny all stopped talking and looked over at she and Harry. Christina nodded and tried to keep eating her chops, but her mouth had become so dry she could not chew.

"How am I getting there?" she asked Mrs. Weasley, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Arthur's taking you both to work with him," said Mrs. Weasley gently. Mr. Weasley smiled encouragingly at Christina and Harry across the table.

"You can wait in my office until it's time for the hearing," he said.

"Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for Sirius to go with you two, and I must say I —"

"— think he's quite right," said Sirius through clenched teeth. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.

"When did Dumbledore tell you that?" Christina said, staring at Sirius.

"He came last night, when you were in bed," said Mr. Weasley. Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Christina dropped her own eyes to her plate. The thought that Dumbledore had been in the house on the eve of his hearing and not asked to see her made her feel, if that were possible, even worse.


	6. Chapter 6: Ministry of Magic

Christina awoke at half-past five the next morning as abruptly and completely as if somebody had yelled in her ear. For a few moments she laid immobile as the prospect of the hearing filled every tiny particle of her brain, then, unable to bear it, she leapt out of bed. Mrs. Weasley had laid out her freshly laundered pants and blouse at the foot of her bed. Christina scrambled into them. The blank picture on the wall sniggered again. Hermione was lying sprawled on her back with her mouth wide open, fast asleep. She did not stir as Christina crossed the room, stepped out onto the landing, and closed the door softly behind her. Trying not to think of the next time she would see Hemione, when they might no longer be fellow students at Hogwarts, Christina walked quietly down the stairs, past the heads of Kreacher's ancestors, and into the kitchen. She had expected it to be empty, but it was not. When she reached the door she heard the soft rumble of voices on the other side and when she pushed it open she saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks sitting there almost as though they were waiting for her. All were fully dressed except Mrs. Weasley, who was wearing a quilted, purple dressing gown. She leapt to her feet the moment she entered.

"Breakfast," she said as she pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire.

"M-m-morning, Christina," yawned Tonks. Her hair was blonde and curly this morning. "Sleep all right?"

"Yeah," said Christina.

"I've b-b-been up all night," she said, with another shuddering yawn. "Come and sit down. . . ." She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it in the process.

"What do you want, Christina?" Mrs. Weasley called. "Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?"

"Just — just toast, thanks," said Christina. The door swung open again. "Harry, dear, breakfast?" Mrs. Weasley asked sweetly. Right behind Harry was Fred who sat next to her quickly. She smiled and kissed him as he sat down. Lupin glanced at Christina and Harry, then said to Tonks, "What were you saying about Scrimgeour?"

"Oh . . . yeah . . . well, we need to be a bit more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions. . . ." Christina felt vaguely grateful that she was not required to join in the conversation and could instead just be close with Fred. The past few days had been incredible with him for the sole reason that Fred distracted her from that day. Her insides were squirming so she rested on his shoulder to try and calm her nerves. Mrs. Weasley placed a couple of pieces of toast and marmalade in front of Christina; she tried to eat, but it was like chewing carpet. Mrs. Weasley sat down on her other side and started fussing with her blouse, tucking in the label and smoothing out creases across the shoulders.

". . . and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t-t-too tired," Tonks finished, yawning hugely again.

"I'll cover for you," said Mr. Weasley. "I'm okay, I've got a report to finish anyway. . . ." Mr. Weasley was not wearing wizard's robes but a pair of pinstriped trousers and an old bomber jacket. He turned from Tonks to Christina and Harry.

"How are you two feeling?" Christina sighed and Harry shrugged, Mr. Weasley forced a smile. "It'll all be over soon," Mr. Weasley said bracingly. "In a few hours' time you'll be cleared. The hearing's on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she's the one who'll be questioning you."

"Amelia Bones is okay," said Tonks earnestly. "She's fair, she'll hear you out." Christina nodded, still unable to think of anything to say.

"Don't lose your temper," said Sirius abruptly. "Be polite and stick to the facts." Christina and Harry nodded again.

"The law's on your side," said Lupin quietly. "Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations." Mrs. Weasley started combing Harry's hair to his dislike and Fred grabbed Christina's hand. She appreciated him for several reasons, but supporting her during stressful situations was definitely a big one.

"Doesn't it ever lie flat?" Mrs. Weasley said desperately raking the comb through his hair. Harry shook his head. Mr. Weasley checked his watch and looked up at Christina and Harry.

"I think we'll go now," he said. "We're a bit early, but I think you'll be better off there than hanging around here."

"Okay," said Harry automatically, dropping his breakfast and getting to his feet. Christina stood up holding Fred's hand looking up at him, "You'll be all right, Christina," he said, kissing her goodbye.

"Good luck to you both," said Lupin. "I'm sure it will be fine."

"And if it's not," said Sirius grimly, "I'll see to Amelia Bones for you. . . ." Christina smiled weakly. Mrs. Weasley hugged them tightly.

"We've all got our fingers crossed," she said.

"Right," said Harry. "Well . . . see you later then."

"Bye" said Christina. They followed Mr. Weasley upstairs and along the hall. Christina could hear Sirius's mother grunting in her sleep behind her curtains. Mr. Weasley unbolted the door and they stepped out into the cold, gray dawn.

"You don't normally walk to work, do you?" Harry asked him, as they set off briskly around the square.

"No, I usually Apparate," said Mr. Weasley, "but obviously you can't, and I think it's best we arrive in a thoroughly non-magical fashion . . . makes a better impression, given what you're being disciplined for. . . ." Mr. Weasley kept his hand inside his jacket as they walked. Christina knew it was clenched around his wand. The run-down streets were almost deserted, but when they arrived at the miserable little Underground station they found it already full of early morning commuters. As ever when he found himself in close proximity to Muggles going about their daily business, Mr. Weasley was hard put to contain his enthusiasm.

"Simply fabulous," he whispered, indicating the automatic ticket machines. "Wonderfully ingenious."

"They're out of order," said Christina, pointing at the sign.

"Yes, but even so . . ." said Mr. Weasley, beaming fondly at them. They bought their tickets instead from a sleepy-looking guard (Christina and Harry handled the transaction, as Mr. Weasley was not very good with Muggle money) and five minutes later they were boarding an Underground train that rattled them off toward the center of London. Mr. Weasley kept anxiously checking and rechecking the Underground map above the windows. "Four stops . . . three stops left now . . . two stops to go . . ." They got off at a station in the very heart of London, swept from the train in a tide of besuited men and women carrying briefcases. Up the escalator they went, through the ticket barrier (Mr. Weasley delighted with the way the stile swallowed his ticket), and emerged onto a broad street lined with imposing-looking buildings, already full of traffic.

"Where are we?" said Mr. Weasley blankly, and for one heartstopping moment Christina thought they had gotten off at the wrong station despite Mr. Weasley's continual references to the map; but a second later he said, "Ah yes . . . this way, kids!" and led them down a side road.

"Sorry," he said, "but I never come by train and it all looks rather different from a Muggle perspective. As a matter of fact I've never even used the visitor's entrance before." The farther they walked, the smaller and less imposing the buildings became, until finally they reached a street that contained several rather shabby-looking offices, a pub, and an overflowing dumpster. Christina had expected a rather more impressive location for the Ministry of Magic.

"Here we are," said Mr. Weasley brightly, pointing at an old red telephone box, which was missing several panes of glass and stood before a heavily graffittied wall.

"After you." He gestured to Christina and Harry. Harry opened the telephone box door and Christina stepped in, confused. Mr. Weasley folded himself in beside Christina and Harry and closed the door. It was a tight fit; Christina was jammed against the telephone apparatus, which was hanging crookedly from the wall as though a vandal had tried to rip it off. Mr. Weasley reached past Christina for the receiver.

"Mr. Weasley, I think this might be out of order too," Christina said.

"No, no, I'm sure it's fine," said Mr. Weasley, holding the receiver above his head and peering at the dial. "Let's see . . . six . . ." he dialed the number, "two . . . four . . . and another four . . . and another two . . ." As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Mr. Weasley's hand, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Er . . ." said Mr. Weasley, clearly uncertain whether he should talk into the receiver or not; he compromised by holding the mouthpiece to his ear, "Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, here to escort Harry Potter and Christina Bataskill, who have been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing. . . ."

"Thank you," said the cool female voice. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach it to the front of your robes." There was a click and a rattle, and Christina saw something slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. She picked it up: It was a square silver badge with Christina Bataskill, Disciplinary Hearing on it. She pinned it to the front of her shirt and Harry did the same. The female voice spoke again. "Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium." The floor of the telephone box shuddered. They were sinking slowly into the ground. Christina watched apprehensively as the pavement rose up past the glass windows of the telephone box until darkness closed over their heads. Then she could see nothing at all; she could only hear a dull grinding noise as the telephone box made its way down through the earth. After about a minute, though it felt much longer to Christina, a chink of golden light illuminated her feet and, widening, rose up his body, until it hit her in the face and she had to blink to stop her eyes from watering.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," said the woman's voice. The door of the telephone box sprang open and Mr. Weasley stepped out of it, followed by Christina and Harry, whose mouth had fallen open. They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock-blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that were continually moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board. The walls on each side were paneled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh; on the right-hand side, short queues of wizards were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart. Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of the two wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode toward a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.

"This way," said Mr. Weasley. They joined the throng, wending their way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases, still others reading the Daily Prophet as they walked. As they passed the fountain Christina saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at her from the bottom of the pool. A small, smudged sign beside it read: All proceeds from the Fountain of Magical Brethren will be given to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. If I'm not expelled from Hogwarts, I'll put in ten Galleons, Christina found herself thinking desperately.

"Over here, kids," said Mr. Weasley, and they stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates, toward a desk on the left, over which hung a sign saying security. A badly shaven wizard in peacock-blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet.

"I'm escorting visitors," said Mr. Weasley, gesturing toward Christina and Harry.

"Step over here," said the wizard in a bored voice. They walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial, and passed it up and down Christina and Harry's front and back.

"Wands," grunted the security wizard, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand. Christina and Harry produced their wands, although Christina gave it quite begrudgingly. The wizard dropped it onto a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing upon it.

"Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?"

"Yes," said Harry nervously.

"Twelve inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use two years. Correct?"

"Yes, sir." said Christina.

"I keep these," said the wizard, impaling the slips of parchment on a small brass spike.

"You get this back," he added, thrusting the wands at both Christina and Harry. "Thank you."

"Hang on. . . ." said the wizard slowly. His eyes had darted from the silver visitor's badge on Harry's chest to his forehead and over to Christina.

"Thank you, Eric," said Mr. Weasley firmly, and grasping Harry by the shoulder, he steered him away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches walking through the golden gates. Jostled slightly by the crowd, Christina followed Mr. Weasley through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. They joined the crowd around one of them. A big, bearded wizard holding a large cardboard box stood nearby. The box was emitting rasping noises.

"All right, Arthur?" said the wizard, nodding at Mr. Weasley.

"What've you got there, Bob?" asked Mr. Weasley, looking at the box.

"We're not sure," said the wizard seriously. "We thought it was a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me." With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back and Christina, Harry and Mr. Weasley moved inside it with the rest of the crowd. Christina found herself jammed against the back wall of the lift. Several witches and wizards were looking at her curiously; she stared at her feet to avoid catching anyone's eye. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, chains rattling all the while, while the same cool female voice Christina had heard in the telephone box rang out again.

"Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office." The lift doors opened; Christina glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor, with various posters of Quidditch teams tacked lopsidedly on the walls; one of the wizards in the lift, who was carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated herself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the lift juddered upward again, and the woman's voice said, "Level six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Center." Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards got out; at the same time, several paper airplanes swooped into the lift. Christina stared up at them as they flapped idly around above her head; they were a pale violet color and she could see ministry of magic stamped along the edges of their wings.

"Just Interdepartmental memos," Mr. Weasley muttered to him. "We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable . . . droppings all over the desks . . ." As they clattered upward again, the memos flapped around the swaying lamp in the lift's ceiling.

"Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats." When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp in the ceiling flickered and flashed as they darted around it.

"Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau."

" 'S'cuse," said the wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken and he left the lift pursued by a little flock of memos. The doors clanged shut yet again.

"Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." Everybody left the lift on this floor except Mr. Weasley, Christina, Harry, and a witch who was reading an extremely long piece of parchment that was trailing on the ground. The remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upward again, and then the doors opened and the voice said, "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

"This is us, kids," said Mr. Weasley, and they followed the witch out of the lift into a corridor lined with doors. "My office is on the other side of the floor."

"Mr. Weasley," said Harry, as they passed a window through which sunlight was streaming, "aren't we underground?"

"Yes, we are," said Mr. Weasley, "those are enchanted windows; Magical Maintenance decide what weather we're getting every day. We had two months of hurricanes last time they were angling for a pay raise. . . . Just round here." They turned a corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors, and emerged in a cluttered, open area divided into cubicles, which were buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos were zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read auror headquarters. Christina looked surreptitiously through the doorways as they passed. The Aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything from pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their families, to posters of their favorite Quidditch teams and articles from the Daily Prophet. A scarlet-robed man with a ponytail longer than Bill's was sitting with his boots up on his desk, dictating a report to his quill. A little farther along, a witch with a patch over her eye was talking over the top of her cubicle wall to Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Morning, Weasley," said Kingsley carelessly, as they drew nearer. "I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?"

"Yes, if it really is a second," said Mr. Weasley, "I'm in rather a hurry." They were talking to each other as though they hardly knew each other, and when Christina opened her mouth to say hello to Kingsley, Mr. Weasley stood on her foot. They followed Kingsley along the row and into the very last cubicle. Christina received a slight shock; Sirius's face was blinking down at her from every direction. Newspaper cuttings and old photographs — even the one of Sirius being best man at the Potters' wedding — papered the walls. The only Sirius-free space was a map of the world in which little red pins were glowing like jewels.

"Here," said Kingsley brusquely to Mr. Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand, "I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle." Kingsley tipped Christina and Harry an enormous wink and added, in a whisper, "Give them the magazine, they might find it interesting." Then he said in normal tones, "And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held our investigation up for a month."

"If you had read my report you would know that the term is 'firearms,' " said Mr. Weasley coolly. "And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for information on motorcycles, we're extremely busy at the moment." He dropped his voice and said, "If you can get away before seven, Molly's making meatballs." He beckoned to Christina and Harry and led them out of Kingsley's cubicle, through a second set of oak doors, into another passage, turned left, marched along another corridor, turned right into a dimly lit and distinctly shabby corridor, and finally reached a dead end, where a door on the left stood ajar, revealing a broom cupboard, and a door on the right bore a tarnished brass plaque reading misuse of muggle artifacts. Mr. Weasley's dingy office seemed to be slightly smaller than the broom cupboard. Two desks had been crammed inside it and there was barely room to move around them because of all the overflowing filing cabinets lining the walls, on top of which were tottering piles of files. The little wall space available bore witness to Mr. Weasley's obsessions; there were several posters of cars, including one of a dismantled engine, two illustrations of postboxes he seemed to have cut out of Muggle children's books, and a diagram showing how to wire a plug. Sitting on top of Mr. Weasley's overflowing in-tray was an old toaster that was hiccuping in a disconsolate way and a pair of empty leather gloves that were twiddling their thumbs. A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray. Christina noticed that Percy appeared to have walked out of it.

"We haven't got a window," said Mr. Weasley apologetically, taking off his bomber jacket and placing it on the back of his chair. "We've asked, but they don't seem to think we need one. Have a seat, doesn't look as if Perkins is in yet." Christina and Harry squeezed themselves into the area behind Perkins's desk while Mr. Weasley rifled through the sheaf of parchment Kingsley Shacklebolt had given them.

"Ah," he said, grinning, as he extracted a copy of a magazine entitled The Quibbler from its midst, "yes . . ." He flicked through it. "Yes, he's right, I'm sure Sirius will find that very amusing — oh dear, what's this now?" A memo had just zoomed in through the open door and fluttered to rest on top of the hiccuping toaster. Mr. Weasley unfolded it and read aloud, " 'Third regurgitating public toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately.' This is getting ridiculous. . . ."

"A regurgitating toilet?" Christina asked.

"Anti-Muggle pranksters," said Mr. Weasley, frowning. "We had two last week, one in Wimbledon, one in Elephant and Castle. Muggles are pulling the flush and instead of everything disappearing — well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling in those — those pumbles, I think they're called — you know, the ones who mend pipes and things —"

"Plumbers?"

"— exactly, yes, but of course they're flummoxed. I only hope we can catch whoever's doing it."

"Will it be Aurors who catch them?"

"Oh no, this is too trivial for Aurors, it'll be the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol — ah, Harry, Christina, this is Perkins." A stooped, timid-looking old wizard with fluffy white hair had just entered the room, panting.

"Oh Arthur!" he said desperately, without looking at Christina nor Harry. "Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not, I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it — an urgent message came ten minutes ago —"

"I know about the regurgitating toilet," said Mr. Weasley.

"No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter and Bataskill's hearing — they've changed the time and venue — it starts at eight o'clock now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten —"

"Down in old — but they told me — Merlin's beard —" Mr. Weasley looked at his watch, let out a yelp, and leapt from his chair. "Quick, kids, we should have been there five minutes ago!" Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Mr. Weasley left the office at a run, Christina and Harry on his heels.

"Why have they changed the time?" Harry said breathlessly as they hurtled past the Auror cubicles; people poked out their heads and stared as they streaked past. Christina felt as though she had left all her insides back at Perkins's desk.

"I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it it would have been catastrophic!" Mr. Weasley skidded to a halt beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the down button.

"Come ON!" The lift clattered into view and they hurried inside. Every time it stopped Mr. Weasley cursed furiously and pummelled the number nine button.

"Those courtrooms haven't been used in years," said Mr. Weasley angrily. "I can't think why they're doing it down there — unless — but no . . ." A plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift at that moment, and Mr. Weasley did not elaborate. "The Atrium," said the cool female voice and the golden grilles slid open, showing Christina a distant glimpse of the golden statues in the fountain. The plump witch got out and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got in.

"Morning, Arthur," he said in a sepulchral voice as the lift began to descend. "Don't often see you down here. . . ."

"Urgent business, Bode," said Mr. Weasley, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and throwing anxious looks over at Christina and Harry.

"Ah, yes," said Bode, surveying them unblinkingly. "Of course." Christina barely had emotion to spare for Bode, but his unfaltering gaze did not make her feel any more comfortable.

"Department of Mysteries," said the cool female voice, and left it at that. "Quick, kids," said Mr. Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Christina expected them to go through it, but instead Mr. Weasley seized both herself and Harry by the arm and dragged them to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps.

"Down here, down here," panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. "The lift doesn't even come down this far . . . why they're doing it there . . ." They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to that which led to Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.

"Courtroom . . . ten . . . I think . . . we're nearly . . . yes." Mr. Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest.

"Go on," he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. "Get in there."

"Aren't — aren't you coming with — ?"

"No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!" Christina's heart was beating violently. She swallowed hard, gave Harry a concerned look, turned the heavy iron door handle, and stepped inside the courtroom.


	7. Chapter 7: The Wizengamot

Christina gasped; she could not help herself. The large dungeon they had entered was horribly familiar. She had not only seen it before, she had been here before: This was the place she had visited with Harry inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the place where she had watched the Lestranges sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of them, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind them an ominous silence fell. A cold male voice rang across the courtroom.

"You're late."

"Sorry," said Harry nervously.

"We-we didn't know the time had changed." Christina said politely.

"That is not the Wizengamot's fault," said the voice. "An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seats." Christina dropped her gaze to the chairs in the center of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. She had seen those chains spring to life and bind whoever sat between them. Her footsteps echoed loudly as she walked across the stone floor. When they sat gingerly on the edge of the chairs the chains clinked rather threateningly but did not bind them. Feeling rather sick Christina looked up at the people seated at the bench above. There were about fifty of them, all, as far as she could see, wearing plum-colored robes with an elaborately worked silver W on the lefthand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at her, some with very austere expressions, others looks of frank curiosity. In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Fudge was a portly man who often sported a lime-green bowler hat, though today he had dispensed with it; he had dispensed too with the indulgent smile he had once worn when he spoke to Harry and Christina. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short gray hair sat on Fudge's left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Fudge's right was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on the bench that her face was in shadow.

"Very well," said Fudge. "The accused being present — finally — let us begin. Are you ready?" he called down the row.

"Yes, sir," said an eager voice Christina knew. Ron's brother Percy was sitting at the very end of the front bench. Christina looked at Percy, expecting some sign of recognition from him, but none came. Percy's eyes, behind his horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on his parchment, a quill poised in his hand.

"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, "into offenses committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey and Christina Stephanie Bataskill, resident at number one thousand four hundred and fifty six Fifth Street, Greenplains, California.

"Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley —"

"— Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said a quiet voice from behind Christina and Harry, who turned her head so fast she cricked her neck. Dumbledore was striding serenely across the room wearing long midnight-blue robes and a perfectly calm expression. His long silver beard and hair gleamed in the torchlight as he drew level with Christina and looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his very crooked nose. The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes were now on Dumbledore. Some looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; two elderly witches in the back row, however, raised their hands and waved in welcome. A powerful emotion had risen in Christina's chest at the sight of Dumbledore, a fortified, hopeful feeling rather like that which phoenix song gave her. She wanted to catch Dumbledore's eye, but Dumbledore was not looking her way; he was continuing to look up at the obviously flustered Fudge.

"Ah," said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. "Dumbledore. Yes. You — er — got our — er — message that the time and — er — place of the hearing had been changed, then?"

"I must have missed it," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done."

"Yes — well — I suppose we'll need another chair — I — Weasley, could you — ?"

"Not to worry, not to worry," said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Christina and Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together, and looked at Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down.

"Yes," said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. "Well, then. So. The charges. Yes." He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, "The charges against Harry James Potter are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offense under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy.

"You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.

"Yes," Harry said. "You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?"

"Yes, but —"

"And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?" said Fudge.

"Yes," said Harry, "but —"

"Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of twenty three?"

"Yes, but —"

"Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?"

"Yes, but —"

"Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?

"Yes," said Harry angrily, "but I only used it because we were —"

"And," said Fudge again, shuffling his notes."The charges against Christina Stephanie Bataskill are as follows: That she did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of her actions, produced a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-five minutes past nine, which constitutes an offense under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy.

"You are Christina Stephanie Bataskill, of number one thousand four hundred and fifty six, Fifth Street, Greenplains, California. ?" Fudge asked.

"Yes," Christina said.

"And you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?" said Fudge.

"Yes," said Christina angrily. The witch with the monocle on Fudge's left cut across him in a booming voice.

"You produced a fully fledged Patronus?"

"Yes, but" said Harry, "only because-"

"A corporeal Patronus?"

"A — what?" said Christina.

"Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapor or smoke?"

"Yes," said Christina, feeling both impatient and slightly desperate, "it's a fox, it's always a fox."

"Always?" boomed Madam Bones. "You have produced a Patronus before now?"

"Yes," said Christina, "I've been doing it for over a year —"

"And you are twenty-one years old?"

"Yes, and —"

"You learned this at school?"

"Yes, Professor Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the —"

"Impressive," said Madam Bones, staring down at him, "a true Patronus at that age . . . very impressive indeed." Some of the wizards and witches around her were muttering again; a few nodded, but others were frowning and shaking their heads.

"It's not a question of how impressive the magic was," said Fudge in a testy voice. "In fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that they did it in plain view of a Muggle!" Those who had been frowning now murmured in agreement, but it was the sight of Percy's sanctimonious little nod that goaded Christina into speech.

"I did it because of the dementors!" she said loudly, before anyone could interrupt her again. She had expected more muttering, but the silence that fell seemed to be somehow denser than before.

"Dementors?" said Madam Bones after a moment, raising her thick eyebrows so that her monocle looked in danger of falling out. "What do you mean, girl?"

"I mean there were two dementors down that alleyway and they went for myself, Harry and his cousin!"

"Ah," said Fudge again, smirking unpleasantly as he looked around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. "Yes. Yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this."

"Dementors in Little Whinging?" Madam Bones said in tones of great surprise. "I don't understand —"

"Don't you, Amelia?" said Fudge, still smirking. "Let me explain. They've been thinking it through and decided dementors would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can't see dementors, can they, girl? Highly convenient, highly convenient . . . so it's just your word and no witnesses. . . ."

"I'm not lying!" said Christina loudly, over another outbreak of muttering from the court. "There were two of them, coming from opposite ends of the alley, everything went dark and cold and Harry's cousin felt them and ran for it —"

"It's true!" Harry joined in.

"Enough, enough!" said Fudge with a very supercilious look on his face. "I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure would have been a very well-rehearsed story —" Dumbledore cleared his throat. The Wizengamot fell silent again.

"We do, in fact, have a witness to the presence of dementors in that alleyway," he said, "other than Dudley Dursley, I mean." Fudge's plump face seemed to slacken, as though somebody had let air out of it. He stared down at Dumbledore for a moment or two, then, with the appearance of a man pulling himself back together, said, "We haven't got time to listen to more taradiddles, I'm afraid, Dumbledore. I want this dealt with quickly —"

"I may be wrong," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn't that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?" he continued, addressing the witch in the monocle.

"True," said Madam Bones. "Perfectly true."

"Oh, very well, very well," snapped Fudge. "Where is this person?"

"I brought her with me," said Dumbledore. "She's just outside the door. Should I — ?"

"No — Weasley, you go," Fudge barked at Percy, who got up at once, hurried down the stone steps from the judge's balcony, and hastened past Dumbledore, Christina and Harry without glancing at them. A moment later, Percy returned, followed by Mrs. Figg. She looked scared and more batty than ever. Dumbledore stood up and gave Mrs. Figg his chair, conjuring a second one for himself.

"Full name?" said Fudge loudly, when Mrs. Figg had perched herself nervously on the very edge of her seat.

"Arabella Doreen Figg," said Mrs. Figg in her quavery voice.

"And who exactly are you?" said Fudge, in a bored and lofty voice. "I'm a resident of Little Whinging, close to where Harry Potter lives," said Mrs. Figg.

"We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging other than Harry Potter," said Madam Bones at once. "That situation has always been closely monitored, given . . . given past events."

"I'm a Squib," said Mrs. Figg. "So you wouldn't have me registered, would you?"

"A Squib, eh?" said Fudge, eyeing her suspiciously. "We'll be checking that. You'll leave details of your parentage with my assistant, Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see dementors?" he added, looking left and right along the bench where he sat.

"Yes, we can!" said Mrs. Figg indignantly. Fudge looked back down at her, his eyebrows raised.

"Very well," he said coolly. "What is your story?"

"I had gone out to buy cat food from the corner shop at the end of Wisteria Walk, shortly after nine on the evening of the second of August," gabbled Mrs. Figg at once, as though she had learned what she was saying by heart, "when I heard a disturbance down the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. On approaching the mouth of the alleyway I saw dementors running —"

"Running?" said Madam Bones sharply. "Dementors don't run, they glide."

"That's what I meant to say," said Mrs. Figg quickly, patches of pink appearing in her withered cheeks. "Gliding along the alley toward what looked like two boys and a girl."

"What did they look like?" said Madam Bones, narrowing her eyes so that the monocle's edges disappeared into her flesh. "Well, one was very large and the other one rather skinny —"

"No, no," said Madam Bones impatiently, "the dementors . . . describe them."

"Oh," said Mrs. Figg, the pink flush creeping up her neck now. "They were big. Big and wearing cloaks." Christina felt a horrible sinking in the pit of her stomach. Whatever Mrs. Figg said to the contrary, it sounded to her as though the most she had ever seen was a picture of a dementor, and a picture could never convey the truth of what these beings were like: the eerie way they moved, hovering inches over the ground, or the rotting smell of them, or that terrible, rattling noise they made as they sucked on the surrounding air . . .

A dumpy wizard with a large black mustache in the second row leaned close to his neighbor, a frizzy-haired witch, and whispered something in her ear. She smirked and nodded. "Big and wearing cloaks," repeated Madam Bones coolly, while Fudge snorted derisively. "I see. Anything else?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Figg. "I felt them. Everything went cold, and this was a very warm summer's night, mark you. And I felt . . . as though all happiness had gone from the world . . . and I remembered . . . dreadful things. . . ." Her voice shook and died. Madam Bones' eyes widened slightly. Christina could see red marks under her eyebrow where the monocle had dug into it.

"What did the dementors do?" she asked, and Christina felt a rush of hope. "They went for the kids," said Mrs. Figg, her voice stronger and more confident now, the pink flush ebbing away from her face.

"One of them had fallen. The other was backing away, trying to repel the dementor. That was Harry. He tried twice and produced silver vapor. Then the girl produced a Patronus, which charged down the first dementor and then, with her encouragement, chased away the second from the boy's cousin. And that . . . that was what happened," Mrs. Figg finished, somewhat lamely. Madam Bones looked down at Mrs. Figg in silence; Fudge was not looking at her at all, but fidgeting with his papers. Finally he raised his eyes and said, rather aggressively "That's what you saw, is it?"

"That was what happened," Mrs. Figg repeated. "Very well," said Fudge. "You may go." Mrs. Figg cast a frightened look from Fudge to Dumbledore, then got up and shuffled off toward the door again. Christina heard it thud shut behind her.

"Not a very convincing witness," said Fudge loftily. "Oh, I don't know," said Madam Bones in her booming voice. "She certainly described the effects of a dementor attack very accurately. And I can't imagine why she would say they were there if they weren't —"

"But dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard?" snorted Fudge. "The odds on that must be very, very long, even Bagman wouldn't have bet —"

"Oh, I don't think any of us believe the dementors were there by coincidence," said Dumbledore lightly. The witch sitting to the right of Fudge with her face in shadow moved slightly, but everyone else was quite still and silent.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" asked Fudge icily.

"It means that I think they were ordered there," said Dumbledore.

"I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a pair of dementors to go strolling through Little Whinging!" barked Fudge.

"Not if the dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic these days," said Dumbledore calmly. "I have already given you my views on this matter, Cornelius."

"Yes, you have," said Fudge forcefully, "and I have no reason to believe that your views are anything other than bilge, Dumbledore. The dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask them to."

"Then," said Dumbledore, quietly but clearly, "we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a pair of dementors into that alleyway on the second of August." In the complete silence that greeted these words, the witch to the right of Fudge leaned forward so that Christina saw her for the first time. She thought she looked just like a large, pale toad. She was rather squat with a broad, flabby face, no neck, and a very wide, slack mouth. Her eyes were large, round, and slightly bulging. Even the little black velvet bow perched on top of her short curly hair put her in mind of a large fly she was about to catch on a long sticky tongue.

"The Chair recognizes Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister," said Fudge. The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that took Christina aback; she had been expecting a croak.

"I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore," she said with a simper that left her big, round eyes as cold as ever. "So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on these children!" She gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs on the back of Christina's neck stand up. A few other members of the Wizengamot laughed with her. It could not have been plainer that not one of them was really amused.

"If it is true that the dementors are taking orders only from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that two dementors attacked Harry, Christina and his cousin a week ago, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks," said Dumbledore politely. "Of course, these particular dementors may have been outside Ministry control —"

"There are no dementors outside Ministry control!" snapped Fudge, who had turned brick red. Dumbledore inclined his head in a little bow.

"Then undoubtedly the Ministry will be making a full inquiry into why two dementors were so very far from Azkaban and why they attacked without authorization."

"It is not for you to decide what the Ministry of Magic does or does not do, Dumbledore!" snapped Fudge, now a shade of magenta.

"Of course it isn't," said Dumbledore mildly. "I was merely expressing my confidence that this matter will not go uninvestigated." He glanced at Madam Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him, frowning slightly.

"I would remind everybody that the behavior of these dementors, if indeed they are not figments of these two's imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!" said Fudge. "We are here to examine Harry Potter and Christina Bataskill's offenses under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!"

"Of course we are," said Dumbledore, "but the presence of dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations that threaten the life of the wizard or witch himself, or witches, wizards, or Muggles present at the time of the —"

"We are familiar with clause seven, thank you very much!" snarled Fudge.

"Of course you are," said Dumbledore courteously. "Then we are in agreement that Harry and Christina's use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances it describes?"

"If there were dementors, which I doubt —"

"You have heard from an eyewitness," Dumbledore interrupted. "If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object."

"I — that — not —" blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. "It's — I want this over with today, Dumbledore!"

"But naturally, you would not care how many times you heard from a witness, if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice," said Dumbledore.

"Serious miscarriage, my hat!" said Fudge at the top of his voice. "Have you ever bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you've forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago —"

"That wasn't me, it was a house-elf!" said Harry.

"YOU SEE?" roared Fudge, gesturing flamboyantly in Harry's direction. "A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you —"

"The house-elf in question is currently in the employ of Hogwarts School," said Dumbledore. "I can summon him here in an instant to give evidence if you wish."

"I — not — I haven't got time to listen to house-elves! Anyway, that's not the only — he blew up his aunt, for God's sake!" Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge's bench and upsetting a bottle of ink.

"And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions," said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes. "And I haven't even started on what he gets up to at school —"

"— but as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanors at school, Harry's behavior there is not relevant to this inquiry," said Dumbledore, politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words.

"Oho!" said Fudge. "Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?"

"The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August," said Dumbledore. "Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven, again, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August. In your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appear, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself."

"Laws can be changed," said Fudge savagely.

"Of course they can," said Dumbledore, inclining his head. "And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!" A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. The toadlike witch on his right, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face quite expressionless.

"As far as I am aware, however," Dumbledore continued, "there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is to punish Harry and Christina for every bit of magic they have ever performed. They has been charged with a specific offense and have been presented their defense. All we can do now is to await your verdict." Dumbledore put his fingertips together again and said no more. Fudge glared at him, evidently incensed. Christina glanced sideways at Dumbledore, seeking reassurance; she was not at all sure that Dumbledore was right in telling the Wizengamot, in effect, that it was about time they made a decision. Again, however, Dumbledore seemed oblivious to Christina's attempt to catch his eye. He continued to look up at the benches where the entire Wizengamot had fallen into urgent, whispered conversations. Christina looked at her feet, shocked to think that Harry was in more trouble than Christina was. Even more shocked that the entire Wizengamot thought Harry got into more trouble at school than Christina did. Then the whispering stopped. Christina wanted to look up at the judges, but found that it was really much, much easier to keep examining her laces.

"Those in favor of clearing Christina Stephanie Bataskill of all charges?" said Madam Bones's booming voice. Christina's head jerked upward. There were hands in the air, many of them . . . more than half! Way more than half! Breathing very fast, she tried to count, but before she could finish Madam Bones had said, "And those in favor of conviction?" only Fudge and the woman to his right raised their hands.

"Very well, very well . . . cleared of all charges." Christina's heart leapt.

"Those in favor of clearing Harry James Potter of all charges?" said Madam Bones. Less hands but still a good amount. . .

"And those in favor of conviction?" Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily mustached wizard and the frizzyhaired witch in the second row. Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and then said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, "Cleared of all charges."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feet, pulling out his wand, and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. "Well, I must be getting along. Good day to you all." And without looking once at Christina, he swept from the dungeon.


	8. Chapter 8: Family

Dumbledore's abrupt departure took Christina completely by surprise. She remained sitting where she was in the chained chair, struggling with her feelings of shock and relief. The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet, talking, and gathering up their papers and packing them away. Harry stood up and Christina followed suit. Nobody seemed to be paying them the slightest bit of attention except the toadlike witch on Fudge's right, who was now gazing down at them instead of at Dumbledore. Ignoring her, Christina tried to catch Fudge's eye, or Madam Bones's, wanting to ask whether she was free to go, but Fudge seemed quite determined not to notice eiher Christina or Harry, and Madam Bones was busy with her briefcase, so she took a few tentative steps toward the exit and when nobody called her back, she broke into a very fast walk followed swiftly by Harry.

She took the last few steps at a run, wrenched open the door, and almost collided with Mr. Weasley, who was standing right outside, looking pale and apprehensive.

"Dumbledore didn't say —"

"Cleared," Harry said, pulling the door closed behind him, "of all charges!" Beaming, Mr. Weasley seized Harry and Christina by the shoulders.

"Kids, that's wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn't have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't —" But Mr. Weasley broke off, because the courtroom door had just opened again. The Wizengamot were filing out.

"Merlin's beard," said Mr. Weasley wonderingly, pulling Christina and Harry aside to let them all pass, "you were tried by the full court?"

"I think so," said Christina quietly. One or two of the passing wizards nodded to Christina and Harry as they passed and a few, including Madam Bones, said,

"Morning, Arthur," to Mr. Weasley, but most averted their eyes. Cornelius Fudge and the toadlike witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon. Fudge acted as though Mr. Weasley, Christina, and Harry were part of the wall, but again, the witch looked almost appraisingly at Christina and Harry as she passed. Last of all to pass was Percy. Like Fudge, he completely ignored his father, Christina, and Harry; he marched past clutching a large roll of parchment and a handful of spare quills, his back rigid and his nose in the air. The lines around Mr. Weasley's mouth tightened slightly, but other than this he gave no sign that he had noticed his third son.

"I'm going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news," he said, beckoning Christina and Harry forward as Percy's heels disappeared up the stairs to the ninth level. "I'll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on. . . ."

"So what will you have to do about the toilet?" Christina asked, grinning. Everything suddenly seemed five times funnier than usual. It was starting to sink in: She was cleared, she was going back to Hogwarts.

"Oh, it's a simple enough anti-jinx," said Mr. Weasley as they mounted the stairs, "but it's not so much having to repair the damage, it's more the attitude behind the vandalism, Christina. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it's an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one —" Mr. Weasley broke off in mid-sentence. They had just reached the ninth-level corridor, and Cornelius Fudge was standing a few feet away from them, talking quietly to a tall man with sleek blond hair and a pointed, pale face. The second man turned at the sound of their footsteps. He too broke off in mid-conversation, his cold gray eyes narrowed and fixed upon Christina's face.

"Well, well, well . . . Our Delinquent Duo," said Lucius Malfoy coolly. Harry scowled but Christina just smirked. She had last seen those cool gray eyes through slits in a Death Eater's hood, and last heard that man's voice jeering in a dark graveyard while Lord Voldemort tortured her. She could not believe that Lucius Malfoy dared look her in the face; she could not believe that he was here, in the Ministry of Magic, or that Cornelius Fudge was talking to him, when Harry had told Fudge mere weeks ago that Malfoy was a Death Eater. But she knew eventually he would be outed, and that these little snips at her and Harry would soon be only heard by the dementors keeping him in Azkaban.

"The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape," drawled Mr. Malfoy. "Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes. . . . Snakelike, in fact . . ." Mr. Weasley gripped Christina's shoulder in warning.

"Yeah," said Harry, Christina knew she'd get an earful if she said the thousands of nasty comments she was currently thinking of, so instead she stayed quiet. Lucius Malfoy raised his eyes to Mr. Weasley's face. "And Arthur Weasley too! What are you doing here, Arthur?"

"I work here," said Mr. Weasley shortly.

"Not here, surely?" said Mr. Malfoy, raising his eyebrows and glancing toward the door over Mr. Weasley's shoulder. "I thought you were up on the second floor. . . . Don't you do something that involves sneaking Muggle artifacts home and bewitching them?"

"No," said Mr. Weasley curtly, his fingers now biting into Christina's shoulder.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Christina asked Lucius Malfoy.

"I don't think private matters between myself and the Minister are any concern of yours, Bataskill," said Malfoy, smoothing the front of his robes; Christina distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold.

"Really, just because you are Dumbledore's favorites, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us. . . . Shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?"

"Certainly," said Fudge, turning his back on Christina, Harry and Mr. Weasley. "This way, Lucius." They strode off together, talking in low voices. Mr. Weasley did not let go of Christina's shoulder until they had disappeared into the lift.

"Why wasn't he waiting outside Fudge's office if they've got business to do together?" Christina burst out furiously. "What was he doing down here?"

"Trying to sneak down to the courtroom, if you ask me," said Mr. Weasley, looking extremely agitated as he glanced over his shoulder as though making sure they could not be overheard. "Trying to find out whether you'd been expelled or not. I'll leave a note for Dumbledore when I drop you off, he ought to know Malfoy's been talking to Fudge again."

"What private business have they got together anyway?" asked Harry.

"Gold, I expect," said Mr. Weasley angrily. "Malfoy's been giving generously to all sorts of things for years. . . . Gets him in with the right people . . . then he can ask favors . . . delay laws he doesn't want passed . . . Oh, he's very well connected, Lucius Malfoy. . . ." The lift arrived; it was empty except for a flock of memos that flapped around Mr. Weasley's head as he pressed the button for the Atrium and the doors clanged shut; he waved them away irritably.

"Mr. Weasley," said Harry slowly, "if Fudge is meeting Death Eaters like Malfoy, if he's seeing them alone, how do we know they haven't put the Imperius Curse on him?"

"Don't think it hadn't occurred to us, Harry," muttered Mr. Weasley. "But Dumbledore thinks Fudge is acting of his own accord at the moment — which, as Dumbledore says, is not a lot of comfort. . . . Best not talk about it anymore just now, Harry. . . ." The doors slid open and they stepped out into the now almost deserted Atrium. Eric the security man was hidden behind his Daily Prophet again. They had walked straight past the golden fountain before Christina remembered.

"Wait. . . ." she told Mr. Weasley, and pulling her money bag from her pocket, she turned back to the fountain. She looked up into the handsome wizard's face, but up close, Christina thought he looked rather weak and foolish. The witch was wearing a vapid smile like a beauty contestant, and from what Christina knew of goblins and centaurs, they were most unlikely to be caught staring this soppily at humans of any description. Only the house-elf's attitude of creeping servility looked convincing. With a grin at the thought of what Hermione would say if she could see the statue of the elf, Christina turned her money bag upside down and emptied not just ten Galleons, but the whole contents into the pool at the statues' feet.

"I knew it!" yelled Ron, punching the air. "You always get away with stuff!"

"They were bound to clear you," said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Christina and Harry had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes. "There was no case against you, none at all. . . ."

"Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering they all knew we'd get off," said Harry, smiling. Mrs. Weasley was wiping her face on her apron, and Fred, George, and Ginny were doing a kind of war dance to a chant that went "They got off, they got off, they got off —"

"That's enough, settle down!" shouted Mr. Weasley, though he too was smiling. "Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry —"

"What?" said Sirius sharply.

"They got off, they got off, they got off —"

"Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know."

"Absolutely," said Sirius. "We'll tell him, don't worry."

"Well, I'd better get going, there's a vomiting toilet in Bethnal Green waiting for me. Molly, I'll be late, I'm covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner —"

"They got off, they got off, they got off —"

"That's enough — Fred — George — Ginny!" said Mrs. Weasley, as Mr. Weasley left the kitchen. "Harry and Christina dears, come and sit down, have some lunch, you two hardly ate breakfast. . . ." Ron and Hermione sat themselves down opposite them looking happier than they had done since they had first arrived at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Christina's feeling of giddy relief, which had been somewhat dented by their encounter with Lucius Malfoy, swelled again. The gloomy house seemed warmer and more welcoming all of a sudden; even Kreacher looked less ugly as he poked his snoutlike nose into the kitchen to investigate the source of all the noise.

" 'Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you," said Ron happily, now dishing great mounds of mashed potatoes onto everyone's plates.

"Yeah, he swung it for us," said Christina. She felt that it would sound highly ungrateful, not to mention childish, to say, "I wish he'd talked to me, though. Or even looked at me." And as she thought this, the scar on her hand burned so badly that she clenched her hand into a fist on the table

"What's up?" said Hermione, looking alarmed. Harry was clutching his forehead as well.

"Scar," Harry mumbled. "But it's nothing. . . . It happens all the time now. . . ." None of the others had noticed a thing; all of them were now helping themselves to food while gloating over Christina and Harry's narrow escape; Fred, George, and Ginny were still singing. Hermione looked rather anxious, but before she could say anything, Ron said happily, "I bet Dumbledore turns up this evening to celebrate with us, you know."

"I don't think he'll be able to, Ron," said Mrs. Weasley, setting a huge plate of roast chicken down in front of Harry. "He's really very busy at the moment."

"THEY GOT OFF, THEY GOT OFF, THEY GOT OFF —"

"SHUT UP!" roared Mrs. Weasley.

Over the next few days Christina could not help noticing that there was one person within number twelve, Grimmauld Place, who did not seem wholly overjoyed that she and Harry would be returning to Hogwarts. Sirius had put up a very good show of happiness on first hearing the news, wringing Harry's hand and hugging Christina, beaming just like the rest of them; soon, however, he was moodier and surlier than before, talking less to everybody, even Christina and Harry, and spending increasing amounts of time shut up in his mother's room with Buckbeak.

"Don't you go feeling guilty!" said Hermione sternly, after Christina had confided some of her feelings to her, Harry and Ron while they scrubbed out a moldy cupboard on the third floor a few days later. "You both belong at Hogwarts and Sirius knows it. Personally, I think he's being selfish."

"That's a bit harsh, Hermione," said Ron, frowning as he attempted to prize off a bit of mold that had attached itself firmly to his finger, "you wouldn't want to be stuck inside this house without company."

"He'll have company!" said Hermione. "It's headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, isn't it?

"He just got his hopes up that Harry would be coming to live here with him or that Christina would burn this place to the ground." said Fred, popping up behind the group smirking, giving Christina a kiss on the cheek.

"I don't think that's true," said Harry, wringing out his cloth. "He wouldn't give me a straight answer when I asked him if I could."

"He couldn't give you a straight answer when you asked about me burning this place to the ground?" Christina joked. Harry laughed.

"He just didn't want to get his own hopes up even more," said Hermione wisely. "And he probably felt a bit guilty himself, because I think a part of him was really hoping you'd be expelled. Then you'd both be outcasts together."

"Come off it!" said Harry and Ron together, but Hermione merely shrugged. "Suit yourselves. But I sometimes think Ron's mum's right, and Sirius gets confused about whether you're you or your father, Harry."

"So you think he's touched in the head?" said Harry heatedly.

"No, I just think he's been very lonely for a long time," said Hermione simply. At this point Mrs. Weasley entered the bedroom behind them.

"Still not finished?" she said, poking her head into the cupboard.

"I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break!" said Ron bitterly. "D'you know how much mold we've got rid of since we arrived here?"

"You were so keen to help the Order," said Mrs. Weasley, "you can do your bit by making headquarters fit to live in."

"I feel like a house-elf," grumbled Ron.

"Well, now that you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a bit more active in S.P.E.W.!" said Hermione hopefully, as Mrs. Weasley left them to it again. "You know, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to show people exactly how horrible it is to clean all the time — we could do a sponsored scrub of Gryffindor common room, all proceeds to S.P.E.W., it would raise awareness as well as funds —"

"I'll sponsor you to shut up about spew," Ron muttered irritably, but only so Christina, Harry, and Fred could hear him. Christina found herself daydreaming about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approached; she could not wait to play Quidditch, even to stroll across the vegetable patches to the Herbology greenhouses. It would be a treat just to leave this dusty, musty house, where half of the cupboards were still bolted shut and Kreacher wheezed insults out of the shadows as you passed, though Christina was careful not to say any of this within earshot of Sirius. The fact was that living at the headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement was not nearly as interesting or exciting as Christina would have expected before she'd experienced it. Though members of the Order of the Phoenix came and went regularly, sometimes staying for meals, sometimes only for a few minutes' whispered conversation, Mrs. Weasley made sure that Christina and the others were kept well out of earshot (whether Extendable or normal) and nobody, not even Sirius, seemed to feel that Christina needed to know anything more than she had heard on the night of her arrival.

On the very last day of the holidays Christina was sweeping up Tulip's owl droppings from the top of the wardrobe when Ron entered his and Harry's bedroom carrying a couple of envelopes.

"Booklists have arrived," he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, and the other to Christina. "About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this. . . ." Christina swept the last of the droppings into a rubbish bag and threw the bag over Ron's head into the wastepaper basket in the corner, which swallowed it and belched loudly. She then opened her letter: It contained two pieces of parchment, one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September, the other telling her which books she would need for the coming year.

"Only two new ones," she said, reading the list. "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard." Crack. Fred and George Apparated right beside Christina. She was so used to them doing this by now that she didn't even fall off her chair.

"We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book," said Fred conversationally.

"Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," said George.

"And about time too," said Fred.

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back," Fred told Harry, "and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year."

"Not surprising, is it, when you look at what's happened to the last four?" said George. "One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months," said Harry, counting them off on his fingers.

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

"What's up with you, Ron?" asked Fred. Ron did not answer. Christina looked around. Ron was standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts.

"What's the matter?" said Fred impatiently, moving around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment. Fred's mouth fell open too.

"Prefect?" he said, staring incredulously at the letter.

"Prefect?" George leapt forward, seized the envelope in Ron's other hand, and turned it upside down. Christina saw something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm.

"No way," said George in a hushed voice.

"There's been a mistake," said Fred, snatching the letter out of Ron's grasp and holding it up to the light as though checking for a watermark.

"No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect. . . ." The twins' heads turned in unison and both of them stared at Harry. "We thought you were a cert!" said Fred in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way.

"Hey!" said Christina.

"Christina, I love you, but all the teachers hate you." said Fred attempting to be nice.

"They do not!" Christina said hotly.

"Christina, my brother loves you, and yes they do." added George. "Even Hagrid gets nervous around you-"

"It's true." said Harry. Christina rolled her eyes and huffed.

"We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!" said George indignantly.

"Winning the Triwizard and everything!" said Fred.

"But, I won the tournament first!" barked Christina.

"Christina. . . please." said Fred holding up a hand to silence her. She gaped at him and sat in her chair, arms folded.

"I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him," said George to Fred.

"Yeah," said Fred slowly. "Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right." He strode over to Harry and clapped him on the back while giving Ron a scathing look. Christina threw her hands in the air.

"Prefect . . . ickle Ronnie the prefect . . ."

"Oh, Mum's going to be revolting," groaned George, thrusting the prefect badge back at Ron as though it might contaminate him. Ron, who still had not said a word, took the badge, stared at it for a moment, and then held it out to Christina and Harry as though asking mutely for confirmation that it was genuine. Harry took it and examined it then passed it to Christina. A large P was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.

"Did you — did you get — ?" She spotted the badge in Christina's hand and let out a shriek. "Oh Christina! I'm shocked, I honestly thought Harry would- but-" she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. "Me too, Christina, me too!" Christina ignored the fact that Hermione too thought she could never be prefect.

"No," said Christina quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron's hand. "It's Ron, not me."

"It — what?"

"Ron's prefect, not me," Christina said.

"Ron?" said Hermione, her jaw dropping. "But . . . are you sure? I mean —" She turned red as Ron looked around at her with a defiant expression on his face.

"It's my name on the letter," he said.

"I . . ." said Hermione, looking thoroughly bewildered. "I . . . well . . . wow! Well done, Ron! That's really —"

"Unexpected," said George, nodding.

"No," said Hermione, blushing harder than ever, "no, it's not . . . Ron's done loads of . . . he's really . . ." The door behind her opened a little wider and Mrs. Weasley backed into the room carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes.

"Ginny said the booklists had come at last," she said, glancing around at all the envelopes as she made her way over to the bed and started sorting the robes into two piles. "If you give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you're packing. Ron, I'll have to get you more pajamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing . . . what color would you like?"

"Get him red and gold to match his badge," said George, smirking.

"Match his what?" said Mrs. Weasley absently, rolling up a pair of maroon socks and placing them on Ron's pile.

"His badge," said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. "His lovely shiny new prefect's badge." Fred's words took a moment to penetrate Mrs. Weasley's preoccupation about pajamas.

"His . . . but . . . Ron, you're not. . . ?" Ron held up his badge. Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek just like Hermione's. "I don't believe it! I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!"

"What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?" said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around her youngest son. "Wait until your father hears! Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it's the first step! Oh, what a thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I'm just thrilled, oh Ronnie —" Fred and George were both making loud retching noises behind her back but Mrs. Weasley did not notice; arms tight around Ron's neck, she was kissing him all over his face, which had turned a brighter scarlet than his badge.

"Mum . . . don't . . . Mum, get a grip. . . ." he muttered, trying to push her away. She let go of him and said breathlessly, "Well, what will it be? We gave Percy an owl, but you've already got one, of course."

"W-what do you mean?" said Ron, looking as though he did not dare believe his ears.

"You've got to have a reward for this!" said Mrs. Weasley fondly. "How about a nice new set of dress robes?"

"We've already bought him some," said Fred sourly, who looked as though he sincerely regretted this generosity. "Or a new cauldron, Charlie's old one's rusting through, or a new rat, you always liked Scabbers —"

"Mum," said Ron hopefully, "can I have a new broom?" Mrs. Weasley's face fell slightly; broomsticks were expensive.

"Not a really good one!" Ron hastened to add. "Just — just a new one for a change . . ." Mrs. Weasley hesitated, then smiled. "Of course you can. . . . Well, I'd better get going if I've got a broom to buy too. I'll see you all later. . . . Little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks. . . . A prefect . . . Oh, I'm all of a dither!" She gave Ron yet another kiss on the cheek, sniffed loudly, and bustled from the room. Fred and George exchanged looks.

"You don't mind if we don't kiss you, do you, Ron?" said Fred in a falsely anxious voice. "We could curtsy, if you like," said George.

"Oh, shut up," said Ron, scowling at them.

"Or what?" said Fred, an evil grin spreading across his face. "Going to put us in detention?"

"I'd love to see him try," sniggered George.

"He could if you don't watch out!" said Hermione angrily, at which Fred and George burst out laughing and Ron muttered, "Drop it, Hermione."

"We're going to have to watch our step, George," said Fred, pretending to tremble, "with these two on our case. . . ."

"Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over," said George, shaking his head. And with another loud crack, the twins Disapparated.

"Those two!" said Hermione furiously, staring up at the ceiling, through which they could now hear Fred and George roaring with laughter in the room upstairs. "Don't pay any attention to them, Ron, they're only jealous!"

"I don't think they are," said Ron doubtfully, also looking up at the ceiling. "They've always said only prats become prefects. . . . Still," he added on a happier note, "they've never had new brooms! I wish I could go with Mum and choose. . . . She'll never be able to afford a Nimbus, but there's the new Cleansweep out, that'd be great. . . . Yeah, I think I'll go and tell her I like the Cleansweep, just so she knows. . . ." He dashed from the room, leaving Christina, Harry and Hermione alone.

"Now, remind me why I'm the obvious non-option for prefect?" Christina asked.

"Oh, well. . .I mean, you can't say that you're surprised, are you? Christina, you spent almost every weekend in detention." Hermione said slowly. Christina thought about it for a second and then remembered just how terrible of a student she was, and let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Harry?" said Hermione tentatively.

"Well done," said Harry, so heartily it did not sound like his voice at all, and not looking at her. "Brilliant. Prefect. Great."

"Thanks," said Hermione. "Erm — Harry — could I borrow Hedwig so I can tell Mum and Dad? They'll be really pleased — I mean, prefect is something they can understand —"

"Yeah, no problem," said Harry, still in the horrible hearty voice that did not belong to him. "Take her!" He leaned over his trunk, laid the robes on the bottom of it, and rummaged for something while Hermione crossed to the wardrobe and called Hedwig down. A few moments passed and Christina watched Hermione leave with Hedwig and Harry sulk by his trunk.

"Harry?"

"What?" he shot back instantly.

"You have to be happy for them. And I know you're not."

"Easy for you to say, it's not like everyone thought you were to be chosen" at that Christina sat back on Ron's bed and didn't say anything. Ever since the attack in Little Whinging she decided to just leave Harry to his own devices when it came to his bitterness. After a few moments she heard excited footsteps outside the door. Ron burst in quickly,

"Just caught her!" he said happily. "She says she'll get the Cleansweep if she can."

"Cool," Harry said, and Christina was relieved to hear that his voice had stopped sounding hearty.

"Listen — Ron — well done, mate." said Christina. The smile faded off Ron's face.

"I never thought it would be me!" he said, shaking his head, "I thought it would be you, Harry!"

"Nah, I've caused too much trouble," Harry said, echoing Fred. Christina rolled her eyes again.

"Yeah," said Ron, "yeah, I suppose. . . . Well, we'd better get our trunks packed, hadn't we?"

It was odd how widely their possessions seemed to have scattered themselves since they had arrived. It took them most of the afternoon to retrieve their books and belongings from all over the house and stow them back inside their school trunks. Christina noticed that Ron kept moving his prefect's badge around, first placing it on his bedside table, then putting it into his jeans pocket, then taking it out and laying it on his folded robes, as though to see the effect of the red on the black. Only when Fred and George dropped in and offered to attach it to his forehead with a Permanent Sticking Charm did he wrap it tenderly in his maroon socks and lock it in his trunk. Mrs. Weasley returned from Diagon Alley around six o'clock, laden with books and carrying a long package wrapped in thick brown paper that Ron took from her with a moan of longing.

"Never mind unwrapping it now, people are arriving for dinner, I want you all downstairs," she said, but the moment she was out of sight Ron ripped off the paper in a frenzy and examined every inch of his new broom, an ecstatic expression on his face. Down in the basement Mrs. Weasley had hung a scarlet banner over the heavily laden dinner table, which read ' _Congratulations Ron and Hermione — New Prefects_ '. She looked in a better mood than Christina had seen her all holiday.

"I thought we'd have a little party, not a sit-down dinner," she told Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny as they entered the room. "Your father and Bill are on their way, Ron, I've sent them both owls and they're thrilled," she added, beaming. Fred rolled his eyes. Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly after Christina had got herself a butterbeer.

"Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here," said Mrs. Weasley brightly, as Mad-Eye shrugged off his traveling cloak. "We've been wanting to ask you for ages — could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's inside it? We haven't wanted to open it just in case it's something really nasty."

"No problem, Molly . . ." Moody's electric-blue eye swiveled upward and stared fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen. "Drawing room . . ." he growled, as the pupil contracted. "Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it. . . . Yeah, it's a boggart. . . . Want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?"

"No, no, I'll do it myself later," beamed Mrs. Weasley. "You have your drink. We're having a little bit of a celebration, actually. . . ." She gestured at the scarlet banner. "Fourth prefect in the family!" she said fondly, ruffling Ron's hair.

"Prefect, eh?" growled Moody, his normal eye on Ron and his magical eye swiveling around to gaze into the side of his head. Christina had the very uncomfortable feeling it was looking at her and moved away toward Sirius and Lupin.

"Well, congratulations," said Moody, still glaring at Ron with his normal eye, "authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn't have appointed you. . . ." Ron looked rather startled at this view of the matter but was saved the trouble of responding by the arrival of his father and eldest brother. Mrs. Weasley was in such a good mood she did not even complain that they had brought Mundungus with them too; he was wearing a long overcoat that seemed oddly lumpy in unlikely places and declined the offer to remove it and put it with Moody's traveling cloak.

"Well, I think a toast is in order," said Mr. Weasley, when everyone had a drink. He raised his goblet. "To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!" Ron and Hermione beamed as everyone drank to them and then applauded.

"I was never a prefect myself," said Tonks brightly from behind Christina as everybody moved toward the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato-red and waist length today; she looked like Ginny's older sister. "My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities."

"Like what?" said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato.

"Like the ability to behave myself," said Tonks. Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of butterbeer and choking on it.

"What about you, Sirius?" Ginny asked, thumping Hermione on the back. Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual barklike laugh.

"No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge."

"I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends," said Lupin. "I need scarcely say that I failed dismally."

Ron was rhapsodizing about his new broom to anybody who would listen. ". . . naught to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? When you think the Comet Two Ninety's only naught to sixty and that's with a decent tailwind according to Which Broomstick?" Hermione was talking very earnestly to Lupin about her view of elf rights.

"I mean, it's the same kind of nonsense as werewolf segregation, isn't it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have of thinking they're superior to other creatures. . . ." Mrs. Weasley and Bill were having their usual argument about Bill's hair. ". . . getting really out of hand, and you're so good-looking, it would look much better shorter, wouldn't it, Christina?"

"Oh — I dunno —" said Christina, slightly alarmed at being asked her opinion; she slid away from them in the direction of Fred and George, who were huddled in a corner with Mundungus. Mundungus stopped talking when he saw Christina, but Fred winked and beckoned her closer.

"It's okay," he told Mundungus, "we can trust Christina, she's our financial backer."

"Look what Dung's gotten us," said George, holding out his hand to Christina. It was full of what looked like shriveled black pods. A faint rattling noise was coming from them, even though they were completely stationary.

"Venomous Tentacula seeds," said George. "We need them for the Skiving Snackboxes but they're a Class C Non-Tradeable Substance so we've been having a bit of trouble getting hold of them."

"Ten Galleons the lot, then, Dung?" said Fred.

"Wiv all the trouble I went to to get 'em?" said Mundungus, his saggy, bloodshot eyes stretching even wider. "I'm sorry, lads, but I'm not taking a Knut under twenty."

"Dung likes his little joke," Fred said to Christina. "Yeah, his best one so far has been six Sickles for a bag of knarl quills," said George.

"Be careful," Christina warned them quietly.

"What?" said Fred. "Mum's busy cooing over Prefect Ron, we're okay."

"But Moody could have his eye on you," Christina pointed out. Mundungus looked nervously over his shoulder.

"Good point, that," he grunted. "All right, lads, ten it is, if you'll take 'em quick."

"Cheers, Christina!" said Fred delightedly, when Mundungus had emptied his pockets into the twins' outstretched hands and scuttled off toward the food. "We'd better get these upstairs. . . ." Christina watched them go, feeling slightly uneasy. It had just occurred to her that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would want to know how Fred and George were financing their joke shop business when, as was inevitable, they finally found out about it. Giving the twins her Triwizard winnings had seemed a simple thing to do at the time, but what if it led to another family row and a Percy-like estrangement? Would Mrs. Weasley still feel so motherly toward Christina if she found out she had made it possible for Fred and George to start a career she thought quite unsuitable? Standing where the twins had left her with nothing but a guilty weight in the pit of her stomach for company, Christina caught the sound of Harry's name. Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice was audible even over the surrounding chatter.

". . . why Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect?" said Kingsley.

"He'll have had his reasons," replied Lupin.

"But it would've shown confidence in him. It's what I'd've done," persisted Kingsley, " 'specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days. . . ." Christina did not look around; she did not want Lupin or Kingsley to know she had heard yet another claim that Harry was the obvious choice in prefect. She followed Mundungus back toward the table, though not remotely hungry. Mad-Eye Moody was sniffing at a chicken leg with what remained of his nose; evidently he could not detect any trace of poison, because he then tore a strip off it with his teeth.

". . . the handle's made of Spanish oak with anti-jinx varnish and in-built vibration control —" Ron was saying to Tonks. Mrs. Weasley yawned widely. "Well, I think I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in. . . . Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? 'Night, dears." She left the kitchen. Christina set down her plate and wondered whether she could follow her without attracting attention.

"You all right, Bataskill?" grunted Moody.

"Yeah, fine," lied Christina. Moody took a swig from his hip flask, his electric blue eye staring sideways at Christina.

"Come here, I've got something that might interest you," he said. From an inner pocket of his robes Moody pulled a very tattered old Wizarding photograph.

"Original Order of the Phoenix," growled Moody. "Found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one. . . . Thought people might like to see it." Christina took the photograph. A small crowd of people, some waving at her, others lifting their glasses, looked back up at her.

"There's me," said Moody unnecessarily, pointing at himself. The Moody in the picture was unmistakable, though his hair was slightly less gray and his nose was intact. "And there's Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on the other side . . . That's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That's Frank and Alice Longbottom —" Christina's stomach, already uncomfortable, clenched as she looked at Alice Longbottom; she knew her round, friendly face very well, even though she had never met her, because she was the image of her son, Neville.

"Poor devils," growled Moody. "Better dead than what happened to them . . . and that's Emmeline Vance, you've met her, and that there's Lupin, obviously . . . Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him . . . shift aside there," he added, poking the picture, and the little photographic people edged sideways, so that those who were partially obscured could move to the front. "That's Edgar Bones . . . brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family too, he was a great wizard . . . Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young . . . Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this, we never found his body . . . Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever . . . Elphias Doge, you've met him, I'd forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat . . . Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like heroes . . . budge along, budge along . . ." The little people in the photograph jostled among themselves, and those hidden right at the back appeared at the forefront of the picture. "That's Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke . . . That's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally . . . Sirius, when he still had short hair . . .James and Lily Potter and . . . there you go, thought that would interest you!" Christina's heart turned over. Her mother and father were beaming up at her, sitting on either side of a small, watery-eyed man Christina recognized at once as Wormtail: He was the one who had betrayed the Potter's whereabouts to Voldemort and so helped bring about their deaths.

"Eh?" said Moody. Christina looked up into Moody's heavily scarred and pitted face. Evidently Moody was under the impression he had just given Christina a bit of a treat.

"Yeah," said Christina, attempting to grin again.

"Er . . . listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my . . ." She was spared the trouble of inventing an object she had not packed; Sirius had just said,

"What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?" and Moody had turned toward him. Christina crossed the kitchen, slipped through the door and up the stairs before anyone could call her back. She did not know why she had received such a shock; she had seen her parents' pictures before, after all, and she had met Wormtail . . . but to have them sprung on him like that, when she was least expecting it . . . No one would like that, she thought angrily. . . . And then, to see them surrounded by all those other happy faces . . . Benjy Fenwick, who had been found in bits, and Gideon Prewett, who had died like a hero, and the Longbottoms, who had been tortured into madness . . . all waving happily out of the photograph forevermore, not knowing that they were doomed. . . . Well, Moody might find that interesting . . . she, Christina, found it disturbing. . . .

Christina tiptoed up the stairs in the hall past the stuffed elf heads, glad to be on her own again, but as she approached the first landing she heard noises. Someone was sobbing in the drawing room.

"Hello?" Christina said. There was no answer but the sobbing continued. She climbed the remaining stairs two at a time, walked across the landing, and opened the drawing-room door. Someone was cowering against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. Sprawled on the dusty old carpet in a patch of moonlight, clearly dead, was Ron. All the air seemed to vanish from Christina's lungs; she felt as though she were falling through the floor; her brain turned icy cold — Ron dead, no, it couldn't be — But wait a moment, it couldn't be — Ron was downstairs —

"Mrs. Weasley?" Christina croaked.

"R-r-riddikulus!'' Mrs. Weasley sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron's body. Crack. Ron's body turned into Bill's, spread-eagled on his back, his eyes wide open and empty. Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever.

"R-riddikulus!" she sobbed again. Crack. Mr. Weasley's body replaced Bill's, his glasses askew, a trickle of blood running down his face. "No!" Mrs. Weasley moaned. "No . . . riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS!" Crack. Dead twins. Crack. Dead Percy. Crack. Dead Harry . . .

"Mrs. Weasley, just get out of here!" shouted Christina, staring down at Harry's dead body on the floor. "Let someone else —"

"What's going on?" Lupin had come running into the room, closely followed by Sirius, with Moody stumping along behind them. Lupin looked from Mrs. Weasley to the dead Harry on the floor and seemed to understand in an instant. Pulling out his own wand he said, very firmly and clearly, "Riddikulus!" Harry's body vanished. A silvery orb hung in the air over the spot where it had lain. Lupin waved his wand once more and the orb vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Oh — oh — oh!" gulped Mrs. Weasley, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands.

"Molly," said Lupin bleakly, walking over to her, "Molly, don't . . ." Next second she was sobbing her heart out on Lupin's shoulder. "Molly, it was just a boggart," he said soothingly, patting her on the head. "Just a stupid boggart . . ."

"I see them d-d-dead all the time!" Mrs. Weasley moaned into his shoulder. "All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it . . ." Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the boggart, pretending to be Harry's body, had lain. Moody was looking at Christina, who avoided his gaze. She had a funny feeling Moody's magical eye had followed her all the way out of the kitchen.

"D-d-don't tell Arthur," Mrs. Weasley was gulping now, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. "I d-d-don't want him to know. . . . Being silly . . ." Lupin handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose.

"Christina, I'm so sorry, what must you think of me?" she said shakily. "Not even able to get rid of a boggart . . ."

"Don't be stupid," said Christina, trying to smile.

"I'm just s-s-so worried," she said, tears spilling out of her eyes again. "Half the f-f-family's in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this. . . . and P-P-Percy's not talking to us. . . . What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we had never m-m-made up? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who's g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?"

"Molly, that's enough," said Lupin firmly. "This isn't like last time. The Order is better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to —" Mrs. Weasley gave a little squeak of fright at the sound of the name.

"Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing it — look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time, you weren't in the Order then, you don't understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one. . . ." Christina thought of the photograph again, of her parents' beaming faces. She knew Moody was still watching her.

"Don't worry about Percy," said Sirius abruptly. "He'll come round. It's a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology," he added bitterly. "And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died," said Lupin, smiling slightly, "what do you think we'd do, let them starve?" Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously.

"Being silly," she muttered again, mopping her eyes. But Christina, closing her bedroom door behind her some ten minutes later, could not think Mrs. Weasley silly. She could still see her parents beaming up at her from the tattered old photograph, unaware that their lives, like so many of those around them, were drawing to a close. The image of the boggart posing as the corpse of each member of Mrs. Weasley's family in turn kept flashing before her eyes. Without warning, the scar on her hand seared with pain again and her stomach churned horribly.

"Cut it out," she said firmly, rubbing the scar as the pain receded again. "First sign of madness, talking to your own head," said a sly voice from the empty picture on the wall. Christina ignored it. She felt older than she had ever felt in her life, and it seemed extraordinary to her that barely an hour ago she had been worried about a joke shop and who had gotten a prefect's badge.


	9. Chapter 9: Train Back

Christina had a troubled night's sleep. Her parents wove in and out of her dreams, never speaking; Mrs. Weasley sobbed over Kreacher's dead body watched by Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were wearing crowns, and yet again Christina found herself walking down a corridor ending in a locked door. She awoke abruptly with her scar prickling to find Hermione already dressed and talking to him.

"Christina wake up! We're going to miss the train!" There was a lot of commotion in the house. From what she heard as she dressed at top speed, Christina gathered that Fred and George had bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that they had hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall; Mrs. Black and Mrs. Weasley were both screaming at the top of their voices.

"— COULD HAVE DONE HER A SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS —"

"— FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS —" Hermione left the room in a hurry as Christina packed up Tulip's cage and moved her trunk to the hallway.

"WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed and Christina set off down the stairs. Mrs. Black's portrait was howling with rage but nobody was bothering to close the curtains over her; all the noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again anyway.

"Christina, you're to come with Arthur and Remus," shouted Mrs. Weasley over the repeated screeches of "MUDBLOODS ! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!"

"Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor's going to deal with the luggage. . . . Oh, for heaven's sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!" A bearlike black dog had appeared at Christina's side as Harry and Hermione approached the door behind Christina.

"Oh honestly . . ." said Mrs. Weasley despairingly, "well, on your own head be it!" She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak September sunlight. "Harry, you'll be with me and Tonks, Christina I'm sure Arthur and Remus will be-there you are!" Arthur Weasley had just popped out of the door, smiling at his enraged wife.

Once Harry, Mrs. Weasley, and Sirius left, Christina Mr. Weasley and Remus followed suit and left. The door slammed behind them and Mrs. Black's screeches were cut off instantly.

"Why can't we all go together?" Christina said, looking around as they went down the stone steps of number twelve, which vanished the moment they reached the pavement.

"Mad-Eye seems to think the is the best way, heaven forbid we reach any sort of. . trouble," said Mr. Weasley stiffly.

It took them twenty minutes to reach King's Cross by foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Mr. Weasley tripping on his shoelaces. Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through onto platform nine and three quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families. Christina inhaled the familiar smell and felt her spirits soar. . . . She was really going back. . . .

"Harry!" said Christina, she rushed over to join Harry, Sirius, Tonks and Mrs. Weasley standing at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform, through which new arrivals would come.

"Nice dog, Harry!" called a tall boy with dreadlocks.

"Thanks, Lee," said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically.

"Oh good," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding relieved, "here's Alastor with the luggage, look . . ." A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a cart full of their trunks.

"All okay," he muttered to Mrs. Weasley and Tonks. "Don't think we were followed. . . ." Seconds later, Kingsley Shacklebolt emerged onto the platform with Ron and Hermione. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage cart when Fred, George, and Ginny turned up with Bill.

"No trouble?" growled Moody.

"Nothing," said Bill.

"I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore," said Moody. "That's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus."

"Well, look after yourselves," said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Christina last and gave her a small hug. "You too, Christina. Be careful."

"Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled," said Moody, shaking Christina's hand too. "And don't forget, all of you — careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all."

"It's been great meeting all of you," said Tonks, hugging Christina, Hermione and Ginny. "We'll see you soon, I expect." A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying onto the train.

"Quick, quick," said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Christina twice. "Write. . . . Be good. . . . If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on. . . . Onto the train, now, hurry. . . ." For one brief moment, the great black dog reared onto its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry's shoulders, but Mrs. Weasley shoved Harry away toward the train door hissing, "For heaven's sake act more like a dog, Sirius!"

"See you!" Christina called out of the open window as the train began to move, while Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny waved beside her. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody, Kingsley, Bill and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, and then they turned the corner, and Sirius was gone.

"He shouldn't have come with us," said Hermione in a worried voice.

"Oh lighten up," said Ron, "he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke."

"Well," said Fred, clapping his hands together, "can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later," and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right. The train was gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the window flashed past and they swayed where they stood.

"Shall we go and find a compartment, then?" Harry asked Christina, Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.

"Er," said Ron.

"We're — well — Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage," Hermione said awkwardly. Ron was looking only at Hermione; he seemed to think Christina had death-ray vision.

"Oh," said Christina. "Well if that's the case I'll just bunk with Fred and George. You're welcome to come along" she said gesturing to Harry and Ginny.

"I can't listen to their business strategy any more" said Ginny. "It's maddening, they just come up with new ideas for hours"

"I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey," said Hermione quickly. "Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time."

"Fine," said Harry. "Well, I-I might see you later, then."

"Yeah, definitely," said Ron, casting a shifty, anxious look at Harry. "It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather — but we have to — I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy," he finished defiantly.

"I know you're not," said Harry and he grinned.

"Find me when you're done figuring out how to properly write a detention slip" she said smiling "And if they don't fully explain I know I can help with that" she said laughing and Christina turned away waving, and dragged the rest of her belongings down the train.

"Mind if I join you? Prefect 1 and 2 have a super secret meeting" Christina said opening the doors to Fred, George, and Lee's carriage. "Hiya Christina!" said Lee. She waved and looked at George who was giving an apprehensive look to Fred.

"Oh, forget it! You two are ridiculous." she said and slammed the door shut before Fred could say a word. The door slid back open, "He was joking! Of course you can sit with us"

"George you are the worst," she said entering the carriage "I'm going to be reading a book I swear."

"As long as you'll be reading. . ."he said smirking. She rolled her eyes and stowed her luggage in the overhead compartment.

Christina had not anticipated the excited fervor that greeted her once the door shut. Lee was getting an earful of jokeshop recipes, marketing plans, and client demographics. Christina was shocked Fred had any of the information considering he almost never talked to her about it. She wasn't offended, but pleased that her Triwizard earnings would go to good use. However, she was hoping Ron and Hermione would stop by to swoop her away, she didn't want to leave on her own accord because she thought that Fred would be disappointed by it. Although, Ron and Hermione did not turn up for nearly an hour, by which time the food trolley had already gone by. Christina, Fred, George, and Lee had finished their Pumpkin Pasties and were busy swapping Chocolate Frog cards when the compartment door slid open and they walked in, accompanied by Crookshanks and a shrilly hooting Pigwidgeon in his cage.

"We've got loads to tell you, want to come with us to Harry and Ginny?" Hermione asked brightly.

"Do you mind boys?" she said slyly.

"Get OUT" George joked.

"Adios." said Christina getting up, joining Ron and Hermione. They checked every compartment looking for any sign of Harry or Ginny, it wasn't until one of the last carriages where they saw them with Neville Longbottom and a slightly shocked looking blonde girl.

"I'm starving," said Ron, stowing Pigwidgeon next to Hedwig, throwing himself into the seat next to Harry.

"Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each House," said Hermione, looking thoroughly disgruntled as she and Christina took a seat. "Boy and girl from each."

"And guess who's a Slytherin prefect?" said Ron, still with his eyes closed.

"Malfoy," replied Christina and Harry at once, her worst fear confirmed.

" 'Course," said Ron bitterly.

"And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson," said Hermione viciously. "How she got to be a prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll . . ."

"Who's Hufflepuff?" Harry asked. "Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott," said Ron thickly.

"And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw," said Hermione.

"You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil," said a vague voice. Everyone turned to look at the blonde girl, who was gazing unblinkingly at Ron over the top of her upside-down magazine.

"Yeah, I know I did," he said, looking mildly surprised.

"She didn't enjoy it very much," she informed him. "She doesn't think you treated her very well, because you wouldn't dance with her. I don't think I'd have minded," she added thoughtfully, "I don't like dancing very much." She retreated behind the magazine again. Christina stared at the cover with her mouth hanging open for a few seconds, then looked around at Ginny for some kind of explanation, but Ginny had stuffed her knuckles in her mouth to stop herself giggling. Ron shook his head, bemused, then checked his watch.

"We're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often," he told Christina, Harry and Neville, "and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something. . . ."

"You're not supposed to abuse your position, Ron!" said Hermione sharply.

"Yeah, right, because Malfoy won't abuse it at all," said Ron sarcastically.

"So you're going to descend to his level?"

"No, I'm just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine."

"For heaven's sake, Ron —"

"I'll make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing," said Ron happily. He lowered his voice to Goyle's low grunt and, screwing up his face in a look of pained concentration, mimed writing in midair.

"I . . . must . . . not . . . look . . . like . . . a . . . baboon's . . . backside. . . ." Everyone laughed, but nobody laughed harder than the quizzical blonde. She let out a scream of mirth that caused Hedwig to wake up and flap her wings indignantly and Crookshanks to leap up into the luggage rack, hissing. She laughed so hard that her magazine slipped out of her grasp, slid down her legs, and onto the floor.

"That was funny!" Her prominent eyes swam with tears as she gasped for breath, staring at Ron. Utterly nonplussed, he looked around at the others, who were now laughing at the expression on Ron's face and at the ludicrously prolonged laughter of the girl, who was rocking backward and forward, clutching her sides.

"Are you taking the mickey?" said Ron, frowning at her.

"Baboon's . . . backside!" she choked, holding her ribs. Everyone else was watching her laughing, but Harry, glancing at the magazine on the floor, noticed something that made him dive for it.

"Can I have a look at this?" Harry asked her eagerly. She nodded, still gazing at Ron, breathless with laughter.

"I'm sorry, we haven't met, who are you?"

"You're Christina Bataskill."

"Yes. And your name?" asked Christina.

"Luna Lovegood, Ravenclaw fourth year" she said in a sing-song voice. Christina smiled and looked over to Harry who was reading the magazine she saw was entitled 'The Quibbler'.

"Anything good in there?" asked Ron as Harry closed the magazine.

"Of course not," said Hermione scathingly, before Harry could answer, "The Quibbler's rubbish, everyone knows that."

"Excuse me," said Luna; her voice had suddenly lost its dreamy quality. "My father's the editor." Christina let out her usual bark-like laugh that always came out during awkward situations. She clasped her hands over her mouth quickly.

"I — oh," said Hermione, looking embarrassed. "Well . . . it's got some interesting . . . I mean, it's quite . . ."

"I'll have it back, thank you," said Luna coldly, and leaning forward she snatched it out of Harry's hands. Rifling through it, she turned it resolutely upside down again and disappeared behind it, just as the compartment door opened for the third time. Christina looked around; she had expected this, but that did not make the sight of Draco Malfoy smirking at her from between his cronies Crabbe and Goyle any more enjoyable.

"How may I help you, Draco?" she said feigning politeness, before Malfoy could open his mouth.

"Better watch out, Bataskill, or I'll have to give you a detention," drawled Malfoy, whose sleek blond hair and pointed chin were just like his father's. "You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah," said Christina, "but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone." Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville laughed. Malfoy's lip curled.

"Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Bataskill?" he asked.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Hermione sharply.

"I seem to have touched a nerve," said Malfoy, smirking. "Well, just watch yourself, freak, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line."

"Get out!" said Hermione, standing up. Sniggering, Malfoy gave Christina a last malicious look and departed, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering in his wake. Hermione slammed the compartment door behind them and turned to look at Christina, who knew at once that she, like Christina, had registered what Malfoy had said and been just as unnerved by it.

Christina stared out of the window. She had thought Sirius coming with them to the station was a bit of a laugh, but suddenly it seemed reckless, if not downright dangerous. . . . Hermione had been right. . . . Sirius should not have come. What if Mr. Malfoy had noticed the black dog and told Draco, what if he had deduced that the Weasleys, Lupin, Tonks, and Moody knew where Sirius was hiding? Or had Malfoy's use of the word "dogging" been a coincidence?

The weather remained undecided as they traveled farther and farther north. Rain spattered the windows in a halfhearted way, then the sun put in a feeble appearance before clouds drifted over it once more. When darkness fell and lamps came on inside the carriages, Luna rolled up The Quibbler, put it carefully away in her bag, and took to staring at everyone in the compartment instead. Harry was sitting with his forehead pressed against the train window, while Christina attempted to nap, however the train's bumpiness didn't allow her to do so.

"We'd better change," said Hermione at last. She and Ron pinned their prefect badges carefully to their chests. Christina saw Ron checking how it looked in the black window. At last the train began to slow down and they heard the usual racket up and down it as everybody scrambled to get their luggage and pets assembled, ready for departure. Ron and Hermione were supposed to supervise all this; they disappeared from the carriage again, leaving Christina, Harry and the others to look after Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon.

"I'll carry that owl, if you like," said Luna to Harry, reaching out for Pigwidgeon as Neville stowed Trevor carefully in an inside pocket.

"Oh — er — thanks," said Harry, handing her the cage and hoisting Hedwig's more securely into his arms. They shuffled out of the compartment feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces as they joined the crowd in the corridor. Slowly they moved toward the doors. Christina could smell the pine trees that lined the path down to the lake. She stepped down onto the platform and looked around, listening for the familiar call of

"Firs' years over here . . . firs' years . . ." But it did not come. Instead a quite different voice, a brisk female one, was calling, "First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!" A lantern came swinging toward Christina and by its light she saw the prominent chin and severe haircut of Professor Grubbly-Plank, the witch who had taken over Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons for a while the previous year.

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry said out loud behind Christina.

"I don't know," said Ginny, "but we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door."

"Oh yeah . . ." Ginny became separated from Christina and Harry as they moved off along the platform and out through the station. Jostled by the crowd, Christina squinted through the darkness for a glimpse of Hagrid but only saw students.

They looked around for Ron or Hermione, wanting to know what they thought about the reappearance of Professor Grubbly-Plank, but neither of them was anywhere near them, so they got shunted forward onto the dark rain-washed road outside Hogsmeade station. Here stood the hundred or so horseless stagecoaches that always took the students above first year up to the castle. Christina glanced quickly at them, turned away to keep a lookout for Ron and Hermione, then did a double take. The coaches were no longer horseless. There were creatures standing between the carriage shafts; if she had had to give them a name, she supposed she would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither — vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister. Christina could not understand why the coaches were being pulled by these horrible horses when they were quite capable of moving along by themselves.

"Where's Pig?" said Ron's voice, right behind them.

"That Luna girl was carrying him," said Harry. "Where d'you reckon —"

"— Hagrid is? I dunno," said Ron, sounding worried. "He'd better be okay. . . ." A short distance away, Draco Malfoy, followed by a small gang of cronies including Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, was pushing some timid-looking second years out of the way so that they could get a coach to themselves. Seconds later Hermione emerged panting from the crowd.

"Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first year back there, I swear I'm going to report him, he's only had his badge three minutes and he's using it to bully people worse than ever. . . . Where's Crookshanks?"

"Ginny's got him," said Christina. "There she is. . . ." Ginny had just emerged from the crowd, clutching a squirming Crookshanks.

"Thanks," said Hermione, relieving Ginny of the cat. "Come on, let's get a carriage together before they all fill up. . . ."

"I haven't got Pig yet!" Ron said, but Hermione was already heading off toward the nearest unoccupied coach. Christina remained behind with Harry and Ron. "What are those things, d'you reckon?" she asked Ron, nodding at the horrible horses as the other students surged past them.

"What things?"

"Those horse —" Luna appeared holding Pigwidgeon's cage in her arms; the tiny owl was twittering excitedly as usual. "Here you are," she said. "He's a sweet little owl, isn't he?"

"Er . . . yeah . . . He's all right," said Ron gruffly. "Well, come on then, let's get in. . . . what were you saying, Christina?"

"I was saying, what are those horse things?" Christina said, as she, Harry, Ron, and Luna made for the carriage in which Hermione and Ginny were already sitting.

"Yeah, I was wondering about that too" said Harry.

"What horse things?"

"The horse things pulling the carriages!" said Harry; they were, after all, about three feet from the nearest one; it was watching them with empty white eyes. Ron, however, gave Christina and Harry a perplexed look.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about — look!" Christina grabbed Ron's arm and wheeled him about so that he was face-to-face with the winged horse. Ron stared straight at it for a second, then looked back at Christina.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Christina half-laughed as though not apart of the joke, but Harry nudged on.

"At the — there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It's right there in front —" But as Ron continued to look bemused.

"Can't . . . can't you see them?" asked Harry, perplexed.

"See what?"

"Can't you see what's pulling the carriages?" asked Christina. Ron looked seriously alarmed now. "Is this another scar thing? You guys see the same thing now cause of. . -"

"No. . I don't think so. . ." said Christina feeling utterly bewildered. The horse was there in front of them, gleaming solidly in the dim light issuing from the station windows behind them, vapor rising from its nostrils in the chilly night air. Yet unless Ron was faking — and it was a very feeble joke if he was — Ron could not see it at all.

"Shall we get in, then?" said Ron uncertainly, looking back and forth from Christina to Harry as though worried about them.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah, go on . . ."

"It's all right," said a dreamy voice from beside Christina and Harry as Ron vanished into the coach's dark interior. "You're not going mad or anything. I can see them too."

"Can you?" said Harry desperately, turning to Luna. She could see the bat-winged horses reflected in her wide, silvery eyes.

"Oh yes," said Luna, "I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. You're just as sane as I am." Smiling faintly, she climbed into the musty interior of the carriage after Ron. Not altogether reassured, Christina followed her.


	10. Chapter 10: Feast

"Christina did not inform the others that she, Harry, and Luna were having the same hallucination, if that was what it was, so she said nothing about the horses as they sat down inside the carriage and slammed the door shut. Nevertheless, she could not help watching the silhouettes of the horses moving beyond the window. 

"Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?" asked Ginny. "What's she doing back here? Hagrid can't have left, can he?" 

"I'll be quite glad if he has," said Luna. "He isn't a very good teacher, is he?" 

"Yes, he is!" said Harry, Ron, and Ginny angrily. Harry glared at Christina and Hermione; Hermione cleared her throat and quickly said, "Erm . . . yes . . . he's very good." Christina just looked away. 

"Well, we think he's a bit of a joke in Ravenclaw," said Luna, unfazed. 

"You've got a rubbish sense of humor then," Ron snapped, as the wheels below them creaked into motion. Luna did not seem perturbed by Ron's rudeness; on the contrary, she simply watched him for a while as though he were a mildly interesting television program. Rattling and swaying, the carriages moved in convoy up the road. When they passed between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars on either side of the gates to the school grounds, Christina leaned forward to try and see whether there were any lights on in Hagrid's cabin by the Forbidden Forest, but the grounds were in complete darkness. Hogwarts Castle, however, loomed ever closer: a towering mass of turrets, jet-black against the dark sky, here and there a window blazing fiery bright above them. The carriages jingled to a halt near the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors and Harry got out of the carriage first. Christina noticed him looking at the black horses again and knew people were starting to stare. 

"Are you coming or what?" said Christina beside him. 

"Oh . . . yeah," said Harry quickly, and they joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. The entrance hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast. The four long House tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly to one another, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other Houses, eyeing one another's new haircuts and robes. Again Christina noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as she and Harry passed; she rolled her eyes and trudged along. 

"Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. The moment they reached Gryffindor's, Ginny was hailed by some fellow fourth years and left to sit with them; Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville found seats together about halfway down the table between Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost, and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the last two of whom gave Christina airy, overly friendly greetings that made her quite sure they had stopped talking about her a split second before. 

"He's not there." Harry said, scanning the table at the front of the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione scanned the staff table too, though there was no real need; Hagrid's size made him instantly obvious in any lineup. 

"He can't have left," said Ron, sounding slightly anxious. 

"Of course he hasn't," said Harry firmly. 

"You don't think he's . . . hurt, or anything, do you?" said Hermione uneasily. 

"No," said Christina at once. 

"But where is he, then?" asked Harry. There was a pause, then Harry said very quietly, so that Neville, Parvati, and Lavender could not hear, "Maybe he's not back yet. You know — from his mission — the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore." 

"Yeah . . . yeah, that'll be it," said Ron, sounding reassured, but Hermione bit her lip, looking up and down the staff table as though hoping for some conclusive explanation of Hagrid's absence. 

"Who's that?" she said sharply, pointing toward the middle of the staff table. Christina's eyes followed hers. They lit first upon Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the center of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Dumbledore's head was inclined toward the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked, Christina thought, like somebody's maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and Christina saw, with a shock of recognition, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes. 

"It's that Umbridge woman!" Christina said in a forced whisper. 

"Who?" said Hermione. 

"She was at our hearing, she works for Fudge!" Harry added in an excited whisper. 

"Nice cardigan," said Ron, smirking. 

"She works for Fudge?" Hermione repeated, frowning. "What on earth's she doing here, then?" 

"Dunno . . ." Hermione scanned the staff table, her eyes narrowed. 

"No," she muttered, "no, surely not . . ." Christina did not understand what she was talking about but did not ask; her attention had just been caught by Professor Grubbly-Plank who had just appeared behind the staff table; she worked her way along to the very end and took the seat that ought to have been Hagrid's. That meant that the first years must have crossed the lake and reached the castle, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the doors from the entrance hall opened. A long line of scared-looking first years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizard's hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim. The buzz of talk in the Great Hall faded away. The first years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students, and Professor McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of them, then stood back. The first years' faces glowed palely in the candlelight. A small boy right in the middle of the row looked as though he was trembling. 

"The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat's brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song: 

"In times of old when I was new  
"And Hogwarts barely started  
"The founders of our noble school  
"Thought never to be parted:  
"United by a common goal,  
"They had the selfsame yearning,  
"To make the world's best magic school  
"And pass along their learning.  
"Together we will build and teach!"  
"The four good friends decided  
"And never did they dream that they  
"Might someday be divided,  
"For were there such friends anywhere  
"As Slytherin and Gryffndor?  
"Unless it was the second pair  
"Of Huffepuff and Ravenclaw?  
"So how could it have gone so wrong?  
"How could such friendships fail?  
"Why, I was there and so can tell  
"The whole sad, sorry tale.  
"Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those  
"Whose ancestry is purest."  
"Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose  
"Intelligence is surest."  
"Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those  
"With brave deeds to their name,"  
"Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot,  
"And treat them just the same."  
"These differences caused little strife  
"When first they came to light,  
"For each of the four founders had  
"A House in which they might  
"Take only those they wanted, so,  
"For instance, Slytherin  
"Took only pure-blood wizards  
"Of great cunning, just like him,  
"And only those of sharpest mind  
"Were taught by Ravenclaw  
"While the bravest and the boldest  
"Went to daring Gryffindor.  
"Good Hufflepuff she took the rest,  
"And taught them all she knew,  
"Thus the Houses and their founders  
"Retained friendships firm and true.  
"So Hogwarts worked in harmony  
"For several happy years,  
"But then discord crept among us  
"Feeding on our faults and fears.  
"The Houses that, like pillars four,  
"Had once held up our school,  
"Now turned upon each other and,  
"Divided, sought to rule.  
"And for a while it seemed the school  
"Must meet an early end,  
"What with dueling and with fighting  
"And the clash of friend on friend  
"And at last there came a morning  
"When old Slytherin departed  
"And though the fighting then died out  
"He left us quite downhearted.  
"And never since the founders four  
"Were whittled down to three  
"Have the Houses been united  
"As they once were meant to be.  
"And now the Sorting Hat is here  
"And you all know the score:  
"I sort you into Houses  
"Because that is what I'm for,  
"But this year I'll go further,  
"Listen closely to my song:  
"Though condemned I am to split you  
"Still I worry that it's wrong,  
"Though I must fulfill my duty  
"And must quarter every year  
"Still I wonder whether sorting  
"May not bring the end I fear.  
"Oh, know the perils, read the signs,  
" The warning history shows,  
"For our Hogwarts is in danger  
"From external, deadly foes  
"And we must unite inside her  
"Or we'll crumble from within.  
"I have told you, I have warned you. . . .  
"Let the Sorting now begin. 

"The hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured, for the first time in Christina's memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbors and Christina, clapping along with everyone else, knew exactly what they were talking about. 

"Branched out a bit this year, hasn't it?" said Ron, his eyebrows raised. 

"Too right it has," said Harry. The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts Houses and its own role in sorting them; Christina could not remember it ever trying to give the school advice before. 

"I wonder if it's ever given warnings before?" said Hermione, sounding slightly anxious. 

"Yes, indeed," said Nearly Headless Nick knowledgeably, leaning across Neville toward her (Neville winced, it was very uncomfortable to have a ghost lean through you). "The hat feels itself honor-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels —" But Professor McGonagall, who was waiting to read out the list of first years' names, was giving the whispering students the sort of look that scorches. Nearly Headless Nick placed a see-through finger to his lips and sat primly upright again as the muttering came to an abrupt end. With a last frowning look that swept the four House tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out, "Abercrombie, Euan." The terrified-looking boy Christina had noticed earlier stumbled forward and put the hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling right down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The hat considered for a moment, then the rip near the brim opened again and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" Christina clapped loudly with the rest of Gryffindor House as Euan Abercrombie staggered to their table and sat down, looking as though he would like very much to sink through the floor and never be looked at again. 

"Slowly the long line of first years thinned; in the pauses between the names and the Sorting Hat's decisions, Christina could hear Ron's stomach rumbling loudly. Finally, "Zeller, Rose" was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and stool and marched them away as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet. Christina was somehow soothed to see Dumbledore standing before them all, whatever her recent bitter feelings toward her headmaster. Between the absence of Hagrid and the presence of those dragonish horses, she had felt that her return to Hogwarts, so long anticipated, was full of unexpected surprises like jarring notes in a familiar song. But this, at least, was how it was supposed to be: their headmaster rising to greet them all before the start-of-term feast. 

"To our newcomers," said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, "welcome! To our old hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!" There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate — for food had appeared out of nowhere, so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread, sauces, and flagons of pumpkin juice. 

"Excellent," said Ron, with a kind of groan of longing, and he seized the nearest plate of chops and began piling them onto his plate, watched wistfully by Nearly Headless Nick.  
"

"What were you saying before the Sorting?" Hermione asked the ghost. "About the hat giving warnings?" 

"Oh yes," said Nick, who seemed glad of a reason to turn away from Ron, who was now eating roast potatoes with almost indecent enthusiasm. "Yes, I have heard the hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: Stand together, be strong from within." 

"Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?" said Ron. His mouth was so full Christina thought it was quite an achievement for him to make any noise at all. 

"I beg your pardon?" said Nearly Headless Nick politely, while Hermione looked revolted. Ron gave an enormous swallow and said, "How can it know if the school's in danger if it's a hat?" 

"I have no idea," said Nearly Headless Nick. "Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks things up there." 

"And it wants all the Houses to be friends?" said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. "Fat chance." 

"Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude," said Nick reprovingly. "Peaceful cooperation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate Houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron." 

"Only because you're terrified of him," said Ron. Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted. 

"Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins —" 

"What blood?" asked Ron. "Surely you haven't still got — ?" 

"It's a figure of speech!" said Nearly Headless Nick, now so annoyed his head was trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. 

"I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!" 

"Nick, he wasn't really laughing at you!" said Hermione, throwing a furious look at Ron. Unfortunately, Ron's mouth was packed to exploding point again and all he could manage was "node iddum eentup sechew," which Nick did not seem to think constituted an adequate apology. Rising into the air, he straightened his feathered hat and swept away from them to the other end of the table, coming to rest between the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis. 

"Well done, Ron," snapped Christina. 

"What?" said Ron indignantly, having managed, finally, to swallow his food. "I'm not allowed to ask a simple question?" 

"Oh forget it," said Christina irritably. 

"When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the hall was starting to creep upward again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the headmaster. Christina was feeling pleasantly drowsy now. Her four-poster bed was waiting somewhere above, wonderfully warm and soft. . . . 

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," said Dumbledore. "First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to know by now too." (Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged smirks.) 

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door. 

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause during which Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged slightly panicked looks; Dumbledore had not said for how long Grubbly-Plank would be teaching. Dumbledore continued, "Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —" He broke off, looking inquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge said,

"Hem, hem," and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech. Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat back down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair, and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as Christina had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts. 

"Thank you, Headmaster," Professor Umbridge simpered, "for those kind words of welcome." Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and little-girlish and again, Christina felt a powerful rush of dislike that she could not explain to herself; all she knew was that she loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. She gave another little throatclearing cough ("Hem, hem") and continued: "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. "And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!" Christina glanced around. None of the faces she could see looked happy; on the contrary, they all looked rather taken aback at being addressed as though they were five years old. 

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!" Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins. "I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan," Parvati whispered to Lavender, and both of them lapsed into silent giggles. Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again ("Hem, hem"), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them. 

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching." Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back. Professor McGonagall's dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Christina distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little "Hem, hem" and went on with her speech. 

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation . . ." Christina found her attentiveness ebbing, as though her brain was slipping in and out of tune. The quiet that always filled the Hall when Dumbledore was speaking was breaking up as students put their heads together, whispering and giggling. Over at the Ravenclaw table, Luna Lovegood had got out The Quibbler again. Meanwhile at the Hufflepuff table, Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Christina was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect's badge gleaming on his chest. Professor Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. Christina had the impression that a full-scale riot could have broken out under her nose and she would have plowed on with her speech. The teachers, however, were still listening very attentively, and Hermione seemed to be drinking in every word Umbridge spoke, though judging by her expression, they were not at all to her taste. 

". . . because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited." She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though Christina noticed that several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again. 

"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating," he said, bowing to her. "Now — as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held . . ." " 

"Yes, it certainly was illuminating," said Hermione in a low voice. 

"You're not telling me you enjoyed it?" Ron said quietly, turning a glazed face upon

Hermione. "That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy." 

"I said illuminating, not enjoyable," said Hermione. "It explained a lot." 

"Did it?" said Harry in surprise. "Sounded like a load of waffle to me." 

"There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle," said Hermione grimly. 

"Was there?" said Ron blankly. 

"How about 'progress for progress's sake must be discouraged'? How about 'pruning

wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited'?" 

"Well, what does that mean?" said Ron impatiently. 

"I'll tell you what it means," said Hermione ominously. "It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts." There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. Hermione jumped up, looking flustered. 

"Ron, we're supposed to show the first years where to go!" 

"Oh yeah," said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. "Hey — hey you lot! Midgets!" 

"Ron!" 

"Well, they are, they're titchy. . . ." 

"I know, but you can't call them midgets. . . . First years!" Hermione called commandingly

along the table. "This way, please!" A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. Christina grinned at them. A blond boy next to Euan Abercrombie looked petrified, nudged Euan, and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified look at Christina, who felt the grin slide off her face like Stinksap. 

"See you later," she said to Ron and Hermione, and she and Harry made their way out of the Great Hall alone, attempting to ignore more whispering, staring, and pointing as they passed. 

"Am I crazy or is everyone talking about us?" Christina asked Harry quietly. "You're definitely not crazy, although I may go crazy from all this. . . " Harry said as they wove through the crowd in the entrance hall and up the marble staircase. 

"Should've expected this, last time people saw us we were emerging from the Triwizard maze with a dead body and raving about Lord Voldemort" Harry said bitterly. Christina felt a twinge of anger to Harry referring to Cedric Diggory as a 'dead body' but didn't want to fight with Harry. They continued in silence. 

"They had reached the end of the corridor to the Gryffindor common room and had come to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. Both exchanged looks to see if the other had the password and both shook their heads. 

"Er . . ." he said glumly, staring up at the Fat Lady, who smoothed the folds of her pink satin dress and looked sternly back at him. 

"No password, no entrance," she said loftily. 

"Harry, Christina, I know it!" someone panted from behind them, and they turned to see Neville jogging toward them. 

"Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once —" He waved the stunted little cactus he had shown them on the train. "Mimbulus mimbletonia!" 

"Correct," said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open toward them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Christina, Harry and Neville now climbed. The Gryffindor common room looked as welcoming as ever, a cozy circular tower room full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and a few people were warming their hands before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the notice board. Christina rushed over to the twins and hugged Fred from behind. She always had a talent for telling them apart, even from behind. 

"Look who made it back!" Fred said sweetly, turning around and kissing her. Christina saw in the corner of her eye that Harry went upstairs to the boy's dormitory without a word. She ignored him, knowing full-well that he probably took issue with her greeting the twins. 

"Making money already?" she asked, looking up at the twins' advertisement for their products. 

"Trying to" said George. 

"It's going to be a great year" added Fred. Christina stared at the flyer with a hard face, she certainly hoped it would be a good year, but knew with every pointed eye and bitter whisper from behind her it would be a difficult one.


	11. Chapter 11: Snark

Christina awoke early the next morning to beat the general first day rush in the common room. First years were always buzzing with anxiety the first week back and she wanted a nice and quiet start to what she assumed would be an incredibly stressful day. She put on her school robes and headed down, only a few students lazing around. She must've been in the common room for an hour before the general pick up started and as Seamus Finnigan trudged down the stairs and punched the portrait hole open, down came Hermione followed shortly by Harry and Ron.

"You're up early!" said Hermione. "Early bird gets the worm right?" said Christina and saw Hermione whip around to read Fred's advertisement. "Morning!" Christina said to Harry and Ron who both nodded hello, Harry looking absolutely miserable.

"They are the limit," said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign, which Fred and George had pinned up over a poster giving the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend in October. "We'll have to talk to them, Ron." Ron looked positively alarmed. "Why?"

"Because we're prefects!" said Hermione, as they climbed out through the portrait hole. "It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!" Ron said nothing; Christina could tell from his glum expression that the prospect of stopping Fred and George doing exactly what they liked was not one that he found inviting.

"Anyway, what's up, Harry?" Hermione continued, as they walked down a flight of stairs lined with portraits of old witches and wizards, all of whom ignored them, being engrossed in their own conversation. "You look really angry about something."

"Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who," said Ron succinctly, when Harry did not respond. Christina, whom Harry had expected to react angrily on his behalf, sighed.

"Yes, Lavender thinks so too," Hermione said gloomily.

"Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?" Harry said loudly.

"No," said Hermione calmly, "I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down Ron's and my throats, Harry, because if you haven't noticed, we're on your side." There was a short pause. Christina was taken aback but pleasantly surprised, someone had to say it. . .

"Sorry," said Harry in a low voice.

"That's quite all right," said Hermione with dignity. Then she shook her head. "Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the end-of-term feast last year?" Harry and Ron both looked at her blankly, and Hermione sighed again. "About You-Know-Who. He said, 'His gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust —' "

"How do you remember stuff like that?" asked Ron, looking at her in admiration.

"I listen, Ron," said Hermione with a touch of asperity.

"So do I, but I still couldn't tell you exactly what —"

"The point," Hermione pressed on loudly, "is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who's only been back two months, and we've started fighting among ourselves. And the Sorting Hat's warning was the same — stand together, be united —"

"And Harry said it last night," retorted Ron, "if that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins, fat chance."

"Well, I think it's a pity we're not trying for a bit of inter-House unity," said Hermione crossly. They had reached the foot of the marble staircase. A line of fourthyear Ravenclaws was crossing the entrance hall; they caught sight of Christina and Harry and hurried to form a tighter group, as though frightened they might attack stragglers.

"Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that," said Christina sarcastically.

They followed the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall, looking instinctively at the staff table as they entered. Professor Grubbly-Plank was chatting to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and Hagrid was once again conspicuous only by his absence.

"Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman's staying," Harry said, as they made their way across to the Gryffindor table.

"Maybe . . ." said Hermione thoughtfully.

"What?" said both Christina, Harry and Ron together. "Well . . . maybe he didn't want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here."

"What d'you mean, draw attention to it?" said Ron, half laughing. "How could we not notice?" Before Hermione could answer, a tall black girl with long, braided hair had marched up to Christina and Harry.

"Hi, Angelina."

"Hi," she said briskly, "good summer?" And without waiting for an answer, "Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."

"Nice one," said Harry, grinning at her; he suspected Angelina's pep talks might not be as long-winded as Oliver Wood's had been, which could only be an improvement. "Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in."

"Okay," said Christina, and she smiled at them and departed.

"I'd forgotten Wood had left," said Hermione vaguely, sitting down beside Ron and pulling a plate of toast toward her. "I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?"

"I s'pose," said Christina, taking the bench opposite. "He was a good Keeper. . . ."

"Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?" said Ron. With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside. Hermione, however, had to move her orange juice aside quickly to make way for a large damp barn owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak.

"What are you still getting that for?" said Harry irritably as Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl's leg and it took off again. "I'm not bothering . . . load of rubbish."

"It's best to know what the enemy are saying," said Hermione darkly, and she unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it, not emerging until Christina, Harry and Ron had finished eating.

"Nothing," she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. "Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything." Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out schedules.

"Look at today!" groaned Ron. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted. . . ."

"Do mine ears deceive me?" said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing onto the bench beside Christina. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"

"Look what we've got today," said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."

"Fair point, little bro," said Fred, scanning the column. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."

"Why's it cheap?" said Ron suspiciously.

"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, they haven't got an antidote yet," said Christina, to the grins of Fred and George.

"Cheers," said Ron moodily, pocketing his schedule, "but I think I'll take the lessons."

"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes," said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board."

"Says who?" said George, looking astonished.

"Says me," said Hermione. "And Ron." Christina looked down at her plate concealing a smile.

"Leave me out of it," said Ron hastily. Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.

"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione," said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. "You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."

"And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?" asked Hermione.

"Fifth year's O.W.L. year," said George.

"So?"

"So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," said Fred with satisfaction.

"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s," said George happily.

"Tears and tantrums . . . Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint. . . ."

"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" said Fred reminiscently.

"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pajamas," said George.

"Oh yeah," said Fred, grinning. "I'd forgotten. . . . Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"

"My boyfriend, everyone" said Christina jokingly.

"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," said George. "If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow."

"Yeah . . . you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?" said Ron.

"Yep," said Fred unconcernedly. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."

"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year," said George brightly, "now that we've got —" He broke off at a warning look from Christina, who knew George had been about to mention the Triwizard winnings she had given them. "— now that we've got our O.W.L.s," George said hastily. "I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."

"We're not going to waste our last year here, though," said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand."

"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?" asked Hermione skeptically. "You're going to need all the ingredients and materials — and premises too, I suppose. . . ." Christina did not look at the twins. Her face felt hot; she deliberately dropped her fork and dived down to retrieve it. She heard Fred say overhead, "Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione. C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology." Christina emerged from under the table to see Fred and George walking away, each carrying a stack of toast. Fred turned back for a moment to send a wink her way.

"What did that mean?" said Hermione, looking from Christina to Harry to Ron. " 'Ask us no questions . . .' Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?"

"You know, I've been wondering about that," said Ron, his brow furrowed. "They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer, and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons. . . ." Christina decided it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters.

"D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?"

"Oh yeah," said Ron. "Bound to be, isn't it? O.W.L.s are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what N.E.W.T.s you want to do next year."

"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?" Harry asked the other three, as they left the Great Hall shortly afterward and set off toward their History of Magic classroom.

"Not really," said Ron slowly. "Except . . . well . . ." He looked slightly sheepish.

"What?" Christina urged him.

"Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror," said Ron in an offhand voice.

"Yeah, it would," said Harry fervently.

"But they're, like, the elite," said Ron. "You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?"

"I don't know," said Hermione. "I think I'd really like to do something worthwhile."

"An Auror's worthwhile!" said Harry.

"Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I mean, if I could take S.P.E.W. further . . ." Christina, Harry and Ron carefully avoided looking at each other.

History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by Wizard-kind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Christina, Harry and Ron had so far managed to scrape passes in this subject only by copying Hermione's notes before exams; she alone seemed able to resist the soporific power of Binns's voice. Today they suffered through three quarters of an hour's droning on the subject of giant wars. Christina heard just enough within the first ten minutes to appreciate dimly that in another teacher's hands this subject might have been mildly interesting, but then her brain disengaged, and she spent the remaining thirty-five minutes playing hangman on a corner of her parchment with Harry and Ron, while Hermione shot them filthy looks out of the corner of her eye.

"How would it be," she asked them coldly as they left the classroom for break (Binns drifting away through the blackboard), "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?"

"We'd fail our O.W.L.s," said Ron. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione . . ."

"Well, you'd deserve it," she snapped. "You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"

"We do try," said Ron. "We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration — you're just cleverer than we are — is it nice to rub it in?"

"Oh, don't give me that rubbish," said Hermione, but she looked slightly mollified as she led the way out into the damp courtyard. A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the yard looked blurred at the edges. Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult, just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday, when someone walked around the corner toward them.

"Hello, Harry!" It was Cho Chang and what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Christina remembered how obviously Harry fancied her.

"Hi," said Harry, feeling his face grow hot. Christina shot Hermione a smirk to which she smiled at.

"You got that stuff off, then?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "So did you . . . er . . . have a good summer?" The moment he had said this Christina looked down. She and Cho had a very odd correspondence because Cho was Cedric's boyfriend, but Cedric and Christina were extremely close as well. Although, nothing amounted from it because Christina was very obviously with Fred but something about Cedric's last words made her think that he had feelings for her while with Cho. . . Cho obviously would never know. . .

"Oh, it was all right, you know. . . ."

"Is that a Tornados badge?" Ron demanded suddenly, pointing at the front of Cho's robes, to which a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold T was pinned. "You don't support them, do you?"

"Yeah, I do," said Cho.

"Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?" said Ron, Christina blurted out a laugh, as she always did in uncomfortable situations and then turned to Hermione who shot her daggers.

"I've supported them since I was six," said Cho coolly. "Anyway . . . see you, Harry." She walked away. Hermione waited until Cho was halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron.

"You two are so tactless!" she said hitting Christina with her notebook.

"What? I only asked her if —"

"Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?"

"So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping —"

"What on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team for?"

"Attacking? I wasn't attacking her, I was only —"

"Who cares if she supports the Tornados?"

"Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season —"

"But what does it matter?"

"It means they're not real fans, they're just jumping on the bandwagon —"

"That's the bell," said Harry listlessly, because Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snape's dungeon. They filed into the classroom and the four of them sat at their usual table at the back.

"Settle down," said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him. There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape's mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class's silence.

"Before we begin today's lesson," said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your O.W.L., or suffer my . . . displeasure." His gaze lingered this time upon Neville, who gulped.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye." His eyes rested on Christina and his lip curled. Christina flashed her eyes at him, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that she would be able to give up Potions after fifth year.

"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," said Snape softly, "so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students.

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing." On Harry's left, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of the utmost attentiveness.

"The ingredients and method" — Snape flicked his wand — "are on the blackboard" — (they appeared there) — "you will find everything you need" — he flicked his wand again — "in the store cupboard" — (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) — "you have an hour and a half. . . . Start." Just as Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had predicted, Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in counterclockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.

"A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion," called Snape, with ten minutes left to go. Christina was in no way the worst in potions, she actually performed quite admirably but her general distaste for the teacher usually put her in trouble leaving her with a mountain of detention and acceptable grades. Christina's potion wasn't perfect but it wasn't that far from Hermione's. Harry's cauldron was emitting a dark gray steam; Ron's was spitting green sparks, Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they had gone out. The surface of Hermione's potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapor, and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant that he could find nothing to criticize. At Harry's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, looking down at Harry with a horrible smirk on his face.

"Potter, what is this supposed to be?" The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry.

"The Draught of Peace," said Harry tensely.

"Tell me, Potter," said Snape softly, "can you read?" Draco Malfoy laughed.

"Yes, I can," said Harry. "Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter." Harry squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multicolored steam now filling the dungeon.

" 'Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.' "

"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"

"No," said Harry very quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No," said Harry, more loudly. "I forgot the hellebore. . . ."

"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco." The contents of Harry's potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron. "Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing," said Snape. "Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday." While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething. She felt bad, knowing that he would receive zero marks for the lesson. When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon and had already started his lunch by the time Christina, Ron and Hermione joined him in the Great Hall. The ceiling had turned an even murkier gray during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows.

"That was really unfair," said Hermione consolingly, sitting down next to Harry and helping herself to shepherd's pie. "Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire."

"Yeah, well," said Harry, glowering at his plate, "since when has Snape ever been fair to me?" No one answered; all four of them knew that Snape and Harry's mutual enmity had been absolute from the moment Harry had set foot in Hogwarts.

"I did think he might be a bit better this year," said Hermione in a disappointed voice. "I mean . . . you know . . ." She looked carefully around; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table. ". . . Now he's in the Order and everything."

"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," said Ron sagely. "Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for YouKnow-Who?"

"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," snapped Hermione.

"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," said Harry heavily, as Ron opened his mouth to argue back. Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended.

"Can't you give it a rest?" he said. "You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad." And abandoning his shepherd's pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder and left them sitting there. Christina watched him go and turned to Hermione,

"He's right and he's wrong. Give it a rest but he didn't have to leave. . ." she said.

Divination was Christina's least favorite class after Potions, which was due mainly to Professor Trelawney's habit of predicting her premature death every few lessons. A thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, she always reminded Christina of some kind of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes. She was busy putting copies of battered, leather-bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Christina and Ron entered the room, but so dim was the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low-burning, sickly-scented fire that she appeared not to notice them as they spotted Harry and took a seat by him.

"Hermione and me have stopped arguing," Ron said, sitting down beside Harry.

"Good," grunted Harry.

"But Hermione says she thinks it would be nice if you stopped taking out your temper on us," said Ron.

"I'm not —"

"I'm just passing on the message," said Ron, talking over him."But I reckon she's right. It's not our fault how Seamus and Snape treat you."

"I never said it —"

"Good day," said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice "And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely — as, of course, I knew you would.

"You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your O.W.L. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so . . ." Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations.

"Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on.

Christina hated when they had to be broken up into pairs because through and through Harry and Ron would always choose each other, leaving Christina and Neville to delve into the world of dreams. And Neville actually made an effort, unlike Harry and Ron who frequently doodled on the text. The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. Neville, however, immediately embarked on a long-winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother's best hat.

It was very dull work looking up bits of dreams in the Oracle and Christina was not cheered up when Professor Trelawney set them the task of keeping a dream diary for a month as homework. When the bell went, she, Harry and Ron led the way back down the ladder, Ron grumbling loudly.

"D'you realize how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about O.W.L. year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any. . . ." When they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teacher's desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Christina was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad. The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew yet how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down. A few people mumbled "Good afternoon," in reply. "Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please." Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order "wands away" had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Christina shoved her wand back inside her bag and pulled out quill, ink, and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once: Defense Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles.

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please." She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by: Course aims: 1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used. 3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she said, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?" There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.

"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk." Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad's eyes. Christina turned to page five of her copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read. It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. She felt her concentration sliding away from her; she had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to her, Harry was blinking at the page, undoubtedly trying to stay awake and Ron was absentmindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Christina looked right and received a surprise to shake her out of her torpor. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air. Christina could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. Christina looked at her questioningly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction. After several more minutes had passed, however, Christina was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye than to struggle on with "Basics for Beginners." When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

"And your name is — ?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells." There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron ejaculated loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. — ?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air. Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Christina, Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Christina and she saw Professor Umbridge's eyes flick over to Harry as well. She addressed Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but —"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way —"

"What use is that?" said Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a —"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!" sang Professor Umbridge. Harry thrust his fist in the air. Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him again, but now several other people had their hands up too.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said to Dean.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr. Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free —"

"I repeat," said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but —" Professor Umbridge talked over him. "I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."

"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean Thomas angrily, "he was the best we ever —"

"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day —"

"No we haven't," Christina said, "we just —"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Bataskill!" Christina put up her hand; Professor Umbridge turned away from her. "It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you —"

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean Thomas hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads —"

"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" trilled Professor Umbridge. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Professor Umbridge dismissively.

"Without ever practicing them before?" said Parvati incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough —"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Christina loudly, her fist in the air again. Professor Umbridge looked up.

"This is school, Ms. Bataskill, not the real world," she said softly.

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?" Harry added.

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh yeah?" said Christina. Christina's temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

"Hmm, oh I don't know . . ." said Christina in a mock thoughtful voice, "maybe, gee, a troll running through the castle, or I don't know a basilisk hiding in a dungeon, or perhaps, gosh, I don't know, Lord Voldemort?" Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Christina with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Ms. Bataskill."

"Yeah, that makes sense, thank you Professor." Christina said sarcastically. The classroom went silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Christina.

"Now, let me make a few things quite plain." Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned toward them, her stubbyfingered hands splayed on her desk. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead —"

"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"

"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is NOT a lie!" said Christina. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Ms. Bataskill!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.' " Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Christina, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at her; Seamus looked halfscared, half-fascinated.

"Christina, no!" Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at her sleeve, but Christina jerked her arm out of Hermione's reach.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Christina asked, her voice shaking. There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Harry, Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Christina talk about what had happened on the night that Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Christina to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at Christina without a trace of a fake smile on her face.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly.

"I must've forgotten you were there, you seem to know so much of the day he was murdered," said Christina. She could feel herself shaking. She had hardly talked to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates.

"Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment Christina thought she was going to scream at her. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Ms. Bataskill, dear." She kicked her chair aside, strode around Harry, Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. She could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. She felt so angry she did not care what happened next. Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that Christina could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to her. Christina took it from her without saying a word and left the room, not even looking back at Harry, Ron and Hermione, and slamming the classroom door shut behind her. She walked very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in her hand, and turning a corner walked slap into Peeves the Poltergeist, a wide-faced little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells.

"Why, it's Itty Bitty Bataskill!" cackled Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink; Christina jumped backward out of the way with a snarl.

"Get out of it, Peeves."

"Oooh, feeling cranky?" said Peeves, pursuing Christina along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above her. "What is it this time, my fine babbling friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions?" — Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry —

"I said, leave me ALONE!" Christina shouted, running down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slid down the banister on his back beside him.

"Oh, most think she's barking, the wee lad, But some are more kindly and think she's just sad, But Peevesy knows better and says that she's mad —"

"SHUT UP!" A door to her left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.

"What on earth are you shouting about, Bataskill?" she snapped, as Peeves cackled gleefully and zoomed out of sight. "Why aren't you in class?"

"I've been sent to see you," said Christina stiffly.

"Sent? What do you mean, sent?" She held out the note from Professor Umbridge. Professor McGonagall took it from her, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out, and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line they became narrower.

"Come in here, Bataskill." She followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind Christina. "Well?" said Professor McGonagall, rounding on him. "Is this true?"

"Is what true?" Christina asked, rather more aggressively than she had intended. "Professor?" she added in an attempt to sound more polite.

"Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?"

"Yes," said Christina.

"You called her a liar?"

"Yes."

"You told her He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?"

"Yes." Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, frowning at Christina. Then she said, "Have a biscuit, Bataskill."

"Have — what?"

"Have a biscuit," she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin of cookies lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. "And sit down." She sank into a chair opposite her and helped herself to a Ginger Newt, feeling confused and wrongfooted. Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge's note and looked very seriously at Christina.

"Bataskill, you need to be careful." Christina swallowed her mouthful of Ginger Newt and stared at her. Her tone of voice was not at all what she was used to; it was not brisk, crisp, and stern; it was low and anxious and somehow much more human than usual. "Misbehavior in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than House points and a detention."

"What do you — ?"

"Bataskill, use your common sense," snapped Professor McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner. "You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting." The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all around came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move. "It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow," Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge's note again.

"Every evening this week!" Christina repeated, horrified. "But, Professor, couldn't you — ?"

"No, I couldn't," said Professor McGonagall flatly.

"But —"

"She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: Tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge."

"But I was telling the truth!" said Christina, outraged. "Voldemort's back, you know he is, Professor Dumbledore knows he is —"

"For heaven's sake, Bataskill!" said Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily (she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort's name). "Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control!" She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin, and she stood too.

"Have another biscuit," she said irritably, thrusting the tin at Christina.

"No, thanks," said Christina coldly.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. Christina took one. "Thanks," she said grudgingly.

"Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-ofterm feast, Bataskill?"

"Yeah," said Christina. "Yeah . . . she said . . . progress will be prohibited or . . . well, it meant that . . . that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts." Professor McGonagall eyed him for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk, and held open the door for him.

"Well, I'm glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate," she said, pointing him out of her office.


	12. Chapter 12: Hell Week

Dinner in the Great Hall that night was not a pleasant experience for Christina. The news about her shouting match with Umbridge seemed to have traveled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts standards. She heard whispers all around her as she sat eating between Harry, Ron and Hermione. The funny thing was that none of the whisperers seemed to mind her overhearing what they were saying about her — on the contrary, it was as though they were hoping she would get angry and start shouting again, so that they could hear his story firsthand.

"She says she saw Cedric Diggory murdered. . . ."

"She reckons she dueled with You-Know-Who. . . ."

"Come off it. . . ."

"Who does she think she's kidding?"

"Pur-lease . . ."

"What I don't get," said Christina in a shaking voice, laying down her knife and fork (her hands were trembling too much to hold them steady), "is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them. . . ."

"The thing is, Christina, I'm not sure they did," said Hermione grimly.

"Oh, let's get out of here." Harry slammed down his own knife and fork; Ron looked sadly at his half-finished apple pie but followed suit with Hermione. People stared at them all the way out of the Hall.

"What d'you mean, you're not sure they believed Dumbledore?" Harry asked Hermione when they reached the first-floor landing.

"Look, you don't understand what it was like after it happened," said Hermione quietly. "You two arrived back in the middle of the lawn clutching Cedric's dead body. . . . None of us saw what happened in the maze. . . . We just had Dumbledore's word for it that You-KnowWho had come back and killed Cedric and fought you, Christina."

"Which is the truth!" said Christina loudly. "I know it is, Christina." said Hermione wearily. "It's just that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where they spent two months reading about how you're a nutcase and Dumbledore's going senile!" Rain pounded on the windowpanes as they strode along the empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Christina felt as though her first day had lasted a week, but she still had a mountain of homework to do before bed. A dull pounding pain was developing over her right eye. She glanced out of a rain-washed window at the dark grounds as they turned into the Fat Lady's corridor. There was still no light in Hagrid's cabin.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," said Hermione, before the Fat Lady could ask. The portrait swung open to reveal the hole behind and the four of them scrambled back through it. The common room was almost empty; nearly everyone was still down at dinner. Crookshanks uncoiled himself from an armchair and trotted to meet them, purring loudly, and when Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their four favorite chairs at the fireside he leapt lightly into Hermione's lap and curled up there like a furry ginger cushion. Christina gazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted.

"How can Dumbledore have let this happen?" Hermione cried suddenly, making the other three jump; Crookshanks leapt off her, looking affronted. She pounded the arms of her chair in fury, so that bits of stuffing leaked out of the holes. "How can he let that terrible woman teach us? And in our O.W.L. year too!"

"Well, we've never had great Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?" said Christina. "You know what it's like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job, they say it's jinxed."

"Yes, but to employ someone who's actually refusing to let us do magic! What's Dumbledore playing at?"

"And she's trying to get people to spy for her," said Ron darkly. "Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who's back?"

"Of course she's here to spy on us all, that's obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?" snapped Christina.

"Can't we just . . . Let's just do that homework, get it out of the way. . . ." asked Harry wearily. They collected their schoolbags from a corner and returned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Christina kept her face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares she was attracting.

"Shall we do Snape's stuff first?" said Ron, dipping his quill into his ink. " 'The properties . . . of moonstone . . . and its uses . . . in potionmaking . . .' " he muttered, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he spoke them. "There." He underlined the title, then looked up expectantly at Hermione. "So what are the properties of moonstone and its uses in potionmaking?" But Hermione was not listening; she was squinting over into the far corner of the room, where Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were now sitting at the center of a knot of innocent-looking first years, all of whom were chewing something that seemed to have come out of a large paper bag that Fred was holding.

"Oh let them just have this, if anything" Christina said not even looking at Hermione.

"No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far," she said, standing up and looking positively furious. "Come on, Ron."

"I — what?" said Ron, plainly playing for time. "No — come on, Hermione — we can't tell them off for giving out sweets. . . ."

"You know perfectly well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat or — or Puking Pastilles or —"

"Fainting Fancies?" Harry suggested quietly. One by one, as though hit over the heads with invisible mallets, the first years were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right onto the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out. Most of the people including Christina, Harry, and Ron were laughing; Hermione, however, squared her shoulders and marched directly over to where Fred and George now stood with clipboards, closely observing the unconscious first years. Ron rose halfway out of his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, then muttered to Christina and Harry, "She's got it under control," before sinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted.

"That's enough!" Hermione said forcefully to Fred and George, both of whom looked up in mild surprise.

"Yeah, you're right," said George, nodding, "this dosage looks strong enough, doesn't it?"

"I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish on students!"

"We're paying them!" said Fred indignantly.

"I don't care, it could be dangerous!"

"Rubbish," said Fred.

"Calm down, Hermione, they're fine!" said Lee reassuringly as he walked from first year to first year, inserting purple sweets into their open mouths.

"Yeah, look, they're coming round now," said George. A few of the first years were indeed stirring. Several looked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, or dangling off their chairs, that Christina was sure Fred and George had not warned them what the sweets were going to do.

"Feel all right?" said George kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet.

"I-I think so," she said shakily.

"Excellent," said Fred happily, but the next second Hermione had snatched both his clipboard and the paper bag of Fainting Fancies from his hands.

"It is NOT excellent!"

" 'Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?" said Fred angrily.

"You can't do this, what if you made one of them really ill?"

"We're not going to make them ill, we've already tested them all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reacts the same —"

"If you don't stop doing it, I'm going to —"

"Put us in detention?" said Fred in an I'd-like-to-see-you-try-it voice.

"Make us write lines?" said George, smirking. Onlookers all over the room were laughing. Hermione drew herself up to her full height; her eyes were narrowed and her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity.

"No," she said, her voice quivering with anger, "but I will write to your mother."

"You wouldn't," said George, horrified, taking a step back from her.

"Oh, yes, I would," said Hermione grimly. "I can't stop you eating the stupid things yourselves, but you're not giving them to first years." Fred and George looked thunderstruck. It was clear that as far as they were concerned, Hermione's threat was way below the belt. With a last threatening look at them, she thrust Fred's clipboard and the bag of Fancies back into his arms and stalked back to her chair by the fire. Ron was now so low in his seat that his nose was roughly level with his knees. Fred watched Hermione trot off and gave Christina a terrified look, she bit back a laugh and winked his way.

"Thank you for your support, Ron," Hermione said acidly as she reached the trio.

"You handled it fine by yourself," Ron mumbled. Hermione stared down at her blank piece of parchment for a few seconds, then said edgily, "Oh, it's no good, I can't concentrate now. I'm going to bed." She wrenched her bag open; Christina thought she was about to put her books away, but instead she pulled out two misshapen woolly objects, placed them carefully on a table by the fireplace, covered them with a few screwed-up bits of parchment and a broken quill, and stood back to admire the effect.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing?" said Ron, watching her as though fearful for her sanity.

"They're hats for house-elves," she said briskly, now stuffing her books back into her bag. "I did them over the summer. I'm a really slow knitter without magic, but now I'm back at school I should be able to make lots more."

"You're leaving out hats for the house-elves?" said Ron slowly. "And you're covering them up with rubbish first?"

"Yes," said Hermione defiantly, swinging her bag onto her back.

"That's not on," said Ron angrily. "You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats. You're setting them free when they might not want to be free."

"Of course they want to be free!" said Hermione at once, though her face was turning pink. "Don't you dare touch those hats, Ron!" She left. Ron waited until she had disappeared through the door to the girls' dormitories, then cleared the rubbish off the woolly hats.

"They should at least see what they're picking up," he said firmly. "Anyway . . ." He rolled up the parchment on which he had written the title of Snape's essay. "There's no point trying to finish this now, I can't do it without Hermione, I haven't got a clue what you're supposed to do with moonstones, have you?" Christina and Harry shook their heads, noticing as she did so that the ache in her right temple was getting worse.

"I'm gonna 'head to bed'" Christina said to Harry and Ron using air quotes on head-to-bed, Ron and Harry both knew this meant she was going to either roam the school grounds practicing her natural powers, or that her and Fred were going to have alone time. In this case, it was both. They both wished her good-night and she packed up her books and walked over to the still awe-struck Fred and George.

"Moonlight walk?" she asked Fred. Who, without blinking, dropped the clipboard on the ground and took Christina's arm leading her out of the common room. It had been too long since they had alone time together, so she knew the prospect of them being together would be too good for him to pass up, despite being very busy with his joke shop.

"So, you attacked a teacher, huh?" Fred asked as they walked up the stairs to the seventh floor.

"Is that what they're saying? I wish, that cow. I brought up Cedric, don't know if you heard that bit"

"I did. You ok?"

"Yeah, got detention every night for a week and a tin of cookies"

"A-what?"

"Haha, McGonagall gave me a tin of cookies, and Umbridge gave me a week's worth of detentions."

"Yeah, that seems equal in punishment"

"Oh and 10 house points."

"CHRISTINA! NO!" Fred said in mock-anguish. She laughed and grabbed his hand as they both walked back and forth across the hallway that produced the Room of Requirement. The mysterious door they were so familiar of made itself appear and they entered to see a massive bed and a thousand candles to light the room. "Well, glad we've got the same thought in mind" Fred said just before picking her up by her waist and throwing her onto the bed to finally have her.

Christina awoke the next morning warm and intertwined with Fred Weasley. She slowly turned over to see his quiet resting face and placed a small kiss on his cheek. One of his eyes peaked open and he kissed her back. "Do we have to go?" he said lazily. "I've got double charms in 10 minutes" Christina said suddenly more alert after looking at her watch. They both quickly got dressed and Christina gave Fred a quick kiss before rushing out the door.

Double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of O.W.L.s.

"What you must remember," said little Professor Flitwick squeakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, "is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice!" They then spent more than an hour reviewing Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick were bound to come up in their O.W.L., and he rounded off the lesson by setting them their largest amount of Charms homework ever. It was the same, if not worse, in Transfiguration.

"You cannot pass an O.W.L.," said Professor McGonagall grimly, "without serious application, practice, and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an O.W.L. in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work." Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. "Yes, you too, Longbottom," said Professor McGonagall. "There's nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So . . . today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until N.E.W.T. level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your O.W.L." She was quite right; Christina found the Vanishing Spells horribly difficult. By the end of a double period, neither she, Harry nor Ron had managed to vanish the snails on which they were practicing, though Ron said hopefully that he thought his looked a bit paler. Hermione, on the other hand, successfully vanished her snail on the third attempt, earning her a ten-point bonus for Gryffindor from Professor McGonagall. She was the only person not given homework; everybody else was told to practice the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon.

Now panicking slightly about the amount of homework they had to do, Christina, Harry and Ron spent their lunch hour in the library looking up the uses of moonstones in potion-making. Still angry about Ron's slur on her woolly hats, Hermione did not join them. By the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, Christina's head was aching again. The day had become cool and breezy, and, as they walked down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with many twigs. As they reached her, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding toward them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table. Judging by the fact that all of them kept looking over at Christina Harry, he was able to guess the subject of the joke without too much difficulty.

"Everyone here?" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. "Let's crack on then — who can tell me what these things are called?" She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her. Hermione's hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Malfoy did a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. Pansy Parkinson gave a shriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream, as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixieish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand, and a funny, flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.

"Oooooh!" said Parvati and Lavender, thoroughly irritating Christina: Anyone would have thought that Hagrid never showed them impressive creatures; admittedly the flobberworms had been a bit dull, but the salamanders and hippogriffs had been interesting enough, and the Blast-Ended Skrewts perhaps too much so.

"Kindly keep your voices down, girls!" said Professor GrubblyPlank sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. "So — anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Granger?"

"Bowtruckles," said Hermione. "They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees."

"Five points for Gryffindor," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Yes, these are bowtruckles and, as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?"

"Wood lice," said Hermione promptly, which explained why what Christina had taken for grains of brown rice were moving. "But fairy eggs if they can get them."

"Good girl, take another five points. So whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of wood lice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will gouge out human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few wood lice and a bowtruckle — I have enough here for one between three — you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body parts labeled by the end of the lesson." The class surged forward around the trestle table.

Christina watched Harry get accosted by Malfoy before he hurried back around the table to join Christina, Ron and Hermione, who were squatting on the grass some distance away and attempting to persuade a bowtruckle to remain still long enough to draw it.

"Malfoy says Hagrid is dealing with things. . .too big for him. . .he think he's badly injured. . . ?" Harry phrased it as though he were trying to figure out what had just happened as well. Christina was having a hard time thinking of anything too big for Hagrid, dragons?

"Dumbledore would know if something had happened to Hagrid," said Hermione at once. "It's just playing into Malfoy's hands to look worried, it tells him we don't know exactly what's going on. We've got to ignore him, Harry. Here, hold the bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can draw its face. . . ."

"Yes," came Malfoy's clear drawl from the group nearest them, "Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on substandard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straight away."

"OUCH!" Harry had gripped the bowtruckle so hard that it had almost snapped; it had just taken a great retaliatory swipe at his hand with its sharp fingers, leaving two long deep cuts there. Harry dropped it; Crabbe and Goyle, who had already been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked, laughed still harder as the bowtruckle set off at full tilt toward the forest, a little, moving stickman soon swallowed up by the tree roots. Christina rushed up to Professor Grubbly-Plank and got Harry a handkerchief. When the bell echoed distantly over the grounds Harry rolled up his bloodstained bowtruckle picture and marched off with Christina, Ron and Hermione to Herbology.

"If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time . . ." snarled Harry.

"Harry, don't go picking a row with Malfoy, don't forget, he's a prefect now, he could make life difficult for you. . . ."

"Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?" said Harry sarcastically. Ron laughed, but Christina and Hermione frowned. Together they traipsed across the vegetable patch. The sky still appeared unable to make up its mind whether it wanted to rain or not.

"I just wish Hagrid would hurry up and get back, that's all," said Harry in a low voice, as they reached the greenhouses. "And don't say that Grubbly-Plank woman's a better teacher!" he added threateningly.

"I wasn't going to," said Hermione calmly.

"Because she'll never be as good as Hagrid," said Harry firmly, fully aware that he had just experienced an exemplary Care of Magical Creatures lesson and was thoroughly annoyed about it. The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth years spilled out of it, including Ginny.

"Hi," she said brightly as she passed. A few seconds later, Luna Lovegood emerged, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head. When she saw Christina, her prominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made a beeline straight for him. Many of his classmates turned curiously to watch. Luna took a great breath and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello: "I believe He-Who-MustNot-Be-Named is back, and I believe you fought him and escaped from him."

"Er — right," said Christina awkwardly. Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes.

"You can laugh!" Luna said, her voice rising, apparently under the impression that Parvati and Lavender were laughing at what she had said rather than what she was wearing. "But people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the CrumpleHorned Snorkack!"

"Well, they were right, weren't they?" said Hermione impatiently. "There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack." Luna gave her a withering look and flounced away, radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were not the only ones hooting with laughter now.

"D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?" Christina said jokingly to Hermione as they made their way into class.

"You can definitely do better than her," said Hermione. "Ginny's told me all about her, apparently she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler." Christina thought of the sinister winged horses she and Harry had seen on the night they had arrived and how Luna had said she could see them too. Her spirits sank slightly. Had she been lying? But before she could devote much more thought to the matter, Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to her.

"I want you two to know," he said in a loud, carrying voice, looking between Christina and Harry "that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred percent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I."

"Er — thanks very much, Ernie," said Harry, taken aback but pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions like these, but Christina was in a mood to deeply appreciate a vote of confidence from somebody who was not wearing radishes in their ears. Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Brown's face.

To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of O.W.L.s. Christina wished all the teachers would stop doing this; she was starting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in her stomach every time she remembered how much homework she had to do, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprout's preferred brand of fertilizer, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day. As Christina was starving, and she had her first detention with Umbridge at five o'clock, she headed straight for dinner without dropping off her bag in Gryffindor Tower so that she could bolt something down before facing whatever Umbridge had in store for her. Christina had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice said, "Oy, Bataskill!"

"What now?" she muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper. "I'll tell you what now," she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"

"What?" said Christina."Why . . . oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!"

"Now she remembers!" snarled Angelina. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!"

"I didn't decide not to be there!" said Christina, stung by the injustice of these words. "I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who —"

"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday," said Angelina fiercely, "and I don't care how you do it, tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!" She stormed away.

"You know what?" Christina said to Harry, Ron and Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. "I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because she seems to be channeling his spirit."

"What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?" said Ron skeptically, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Less than zero," said Christina glumly, tipping lamb chops onto her plate and starting to eat. "Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno. . . ." She swallowed a mouthful of potato and added, "I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realize we've got to write three essays, practice Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a countercharm for Flitwick, finish the bowtruckle drawing, and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?" Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling."And it looks like it's going to rain."

"What's that got to do with our homework?" said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

"Nothing," said Ron at once, his ears reddening. At five to five Christina bade the other two good-bye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When Christina knocked on the door she said, "Come in," in a sugary voice. Christina entered cautiously, looking around. She had known this office under two of its previous occupants. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artifacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment. Now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolor kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Christina stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.

"Good evening, Ms. Bataskill." Christina started and looked around. She had not noticed Umbridge at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.

"Evening," Christina said stiffly.

"Well, sit down," she said, pointing toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for her.

"Er," said Christina, without moving. "Professor Umbridge? Er — before we start, I-I wanted to ask you a . . . a favor." Her bulging eyes narrowed.

"Oh yes?"

"Well I'm . . . I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was — was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it — do it another night . . . instead . . ." Christina knew long before she reached the end of her sentence that it was no good.

"Oh no," said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. "Oh no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Ms. Bataskill, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you." Christina felt the blood surge to her head and heard a thumping noise in her ears. So she told evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, did she? Umbridge was watching Christina with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what Christina was thinking and was waiting to see whether she would start shouting again. With a massive effort Christina looked away from her, dropped her schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair, and sat down.

"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Ms. Bataskill. No, not with your quill," she added, as Christina bent down to open her bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are." She handed Christina a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point.

"I want you to write 'I must not tell lies,' " she told Christina softly.

"How many times?" Christina asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness.

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly. "Off you go." She moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Christina raised the sharp black quill and then realized what was missing.

"You haven't given me any ink," she said.

"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice. Christina placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies. She was hit with a surge of pain and she gritted her teeth and took in a sharp inhale. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Christina's right hand, cut into her skin as though traced there by a scalpel — yet even as she stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth. Christina looked around at Umbridge. She was watching Christina, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.

"Yes?"

She looked back at the parchment, placed the quill upon it once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of her hand for a second time; once again the words had been cut into her skin, once again they healed over seconds later. And on it went. Again and again Christina wrote the words on the parchment in what she soon came to realize was not ink, but her own blood. And again and again the words were cut into the back of her hand, healed, and then reappeared the next time she set quill to parchment. Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Christina did not ask when she would be allowed to stop. She did not even check her watch. She knew Umbridge was watching her for signs of weakness and she was not going to show any, not even if she had to sit here all night, cutting open her own hand with this quill. . . .

"Come here," she said, after what seemed hours. Christina stood up. Her hand was stinging painfully. When she looked down at it Umbridge saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw.

"Hand," she said. Christina extended it. She took it in her own. Christina repressed a shudder as she touched her with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings.

"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," she said, smiling. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go." Christina left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. She walked slowly up the corridor then, when she had turned the corner and was sure that Umbridge would not hear her, broke into a run. She had not had time to practice Vanishing Spells, had not written a single dream in her dream diary, and had not finished the drawing of the bowtruckle, nor had she written her essays. She skipped breakfast next morning to scribble down a couple of made-up dreams for Divination, their first lesson, and was surprised to find a disheveled Ron keeping her company.

"How come you didn't do it last night?" Christina asked, as Ron stared wildly around the common room for inspiration. Ron bent low over his parchment, and scrawled a few words. "That'll have to do," he said, slamming the diary shut, "I've said I dreamed I was buying a new pair of shoes, she can't make anything weird out of that, can she?" Harry joined them and they hurried off to North Tower together.

"How was detention with Umbridge, anyway? What did she make you do?" Harry asked, Christina hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, "Lines."

"That's not too bad, then, eh?" said Ron.

"Nope," said Christina.

"Hey — I forgot — did she let you off for Friday?" asked Harry.

"No," said Christina. Ron groaned sympathetically. It was another bad day for Christina; she was one of the worst in Transfiguration, not having practiced Vanishing Spells at all. She had to give up his lunch hour to complete the picture of the bowtruckle, and meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank, and Sinistra gave them yet more homework, which she had no prospect of finishing that evening because of her second detention with Umbridge. To cap it all, Angelina Johnson tracked her down at dinner again and, on learning that she would not be able to attend Friday's Keeper tryouts, told her she was not at all impressed by her attitude and that she expected players who wished to remain on the team to put training before their other commitments.

"I'm in detention!" Christina yelled after her as she stalked away. "D'you think I'd rather be stuck in a room with that old toad or playing Quidditch?"

"At least it's only lines," said Hermione consolingly, as Christina sank back onto her bench and looked down at her steak-and-kidney pie, which she no longer fancied very much.

"It's not as if it's a dreadful punishment, really. . . ." Christina opened her mouth, closed it again, and nodded. Fred, of course, when she needed him most was off with his twin and Lee Jordan perfecting sweets on Ravenclaw first years. She didn't want to tell Harry, Ron, nor Hermione about it just from their general reaction to Harry complaining about anything.

"I can't believe how much homework we've got," said Ron miserably.

"Well, why didn't you do any last night?" Hermione asked him. "Where were you anyway?"

"I was . . . I fancied a walk," said Ron shiftily. Christina had the distinct impression that she was not alone in concealing things at the moment. The second detention was just as bad as the previous one. The skin on the back of Christina's hand became irritated more quickly now, red and inflamed; Christina thought it unlikely to keep healing as effectively for long. Soon the cut would remain etched in her hand and Umbridge would, perhaps, be satisfied. She let no moan of pain escape her, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of her dismissal, again past midnight, she said nothing but "Good evening" and "Good night." Her homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when she returned to the Gryffindor common room she did not, though exhausted, go to bed, but opened her books and began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half-past two by the time she had finished it. She knew she had done a poor job, but there was no help for it; unless she had something to give in she would be in detention with Snape next. She then dashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagall had set them, cobbled together something on the proper handling of bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank, and staggered up to bed, where she fell fully clothed on top of the bed covers and fell asleep immediately.

Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. Ron seemed very sleepy too, though compared to Christina, she could not see why he should be. Christina's third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours the words "I must not tell lies" did not fade from the back of Christina's hand, but remained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. The pause in the pointed quill's scratching made Professor Umbridge look up. "Ah," she said softly, moving around her desk to examine his hand herself. "Good. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight."

"Do I still have to come back tomorrow?" said Christina, picking up her schoolbag with her left hand rather than her smarting right. "Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge, smiling widely as before. "Yes, I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evening's work." She had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world she hated more than Snape, but as she walked back toward Gryffindor Tower she had to admit she had found a contender. She's evil, Christina thought, as she climbed a staircase to the seventh floor, she's an evil, twisted, mad, old —

"Ron?" Christina had reached the top of the stairs, turned right, and almost walked into Ron, who was lurking behind a statue of Lachlan the Lanky, clutching his broomstick. He gave a great leap of surprise when he saw Christina and attempted to hide his new Cleansweep Eleven behind his back.

"What are you doing?"

"Er — nothing. What are you doing?" Christina frowned at him. "Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?"

"I'm — I'm hiding from Fred and George, if you must know," said Ron. "They just went past with a bunch of first years, I bet they're testing stuff on them again, I mean, they can't do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there." He was talking in a very fast, feverish way.

"But what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?" Christina asked.

"I — well — well, okay, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right?" Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. "I-I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh."

"I'm not laughing," said Christina. Ron blinked. "It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?"

"I'm not bad," said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Christina's reaction. "Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays."

"So you've been practicing tonight?"

"Every evening since Tuesday . . . just on my own, though, I've been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn't been easy and I don't know how much use it'll be." Ron looked nervous and anxious. "Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect."

"I wish I was going to be there," said Christina bitterly, as they set off together toward the common room. "Yeah, so do — Christina, what's that on the back of your hand?" Christina, who had just scratched her nose with her free right hand, tried to hide it, but had as much success as Ron with his Cleansweep. "It's just a cut — it's nothing — it's —" But Ron had grabbed Christina's forearm and pulled the back of Christina's hand up level with his eyes. There was a pause, during which he stared at the words carved into the skin, then he released Christina, looking sick.

"I thought you said she was giving you lines?" Christina hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest with her, so she told Ron the truth about the hours she had been spending in Umbridge's office.

"The old hag!" Ron said in a revolted whisper as they came to a halt in front of the Fat Lady, who was dozing peacefully with her head against her frame. "She's sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!"

"No," said Christina at once. "I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me."

"Got to you? You can't let her get away with this!"

"I don't know how much power McGonagall's got over her," said Christina. "Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!"

"No," said Christina flatly.

"Why not?"

"He's got enough on his mind," said Christina, but that was not the true reason. She was not going to go to Dumbledore for help when Dumbledore had not spoken to her once since last June.

"Well, I reckon you should —" Ron began, but he was interrupted by the Fat Lady, who had been watching them sleepily and now burst out, "Are you going to give me the password or will I have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?"

Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. Two things sustained Christina that day. One was the thought that it was almost the weekend; the other was that, dreadful though her final detention with Umbridge was sure to be, she had a distant view of the Quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, be able to see something of Ron's tryout. These were rather feeble rays of light, it was true, but Christina was grateful for anything that might lighten her present darkness; she had never had a worse first week of term at Hogwarts. At five o'clock that evening she knocked on Professor Umbridge's office door for what she sincerely hoped would be the final time, was told to enter and did so. The blank parchment lay ready for her on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill beside it.

"You know what to do, Ms. Bataskill," said Umbridge, smiling sweetly over at her. Christina picked up the quill and glanced through the window. If she just shifted her chair an inch or so to the right . . . On the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table she managed it. She now had a distant view of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half a dozen black figures stood at the foot of the three high goalposts, apparently awaiting their turn to Keep. It was impossible to tell which one was Ron at this distance. I must not tell lies, Christina wrote. The cut in the back of her right hand opened and began to bleed afresh. I must not tell lies. The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting. I must not tell lies. Blood trickled down her wrist. She chanced another glance out of the window. Whoever was defending the goalposts now was doing a very poor job indeed. Katie Bell scored twice in the few seconds Christina dared watch. Hoping very much that the Keeper wasn't Ron, she dropped her eyes back to the parchment dotted with blood. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. She looked up whenever she thought she could risk it, when she could hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill or the opening of a desk drawer. The third person to try out was pretty good, the fourth was terrible, the fifth dodged a Bludger exceptionally well but then fumbled an easy save. The sky was darkening so that Christina doubted she would be able to watch the sixth and seventh people at all. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. The parchment was now shining with drops of blood from the back of her hand, which was searing with pain. When she next looked up, night had fallen and the Quidditch pitch was no longer visible.

"Let's see if you've gotten the message yet, shall we?" said Umbridge's soft voice half an hour later. She moved toward Christina, stretching out her short be-ringed fingers for her arm. And then, as she took hold of her to examine the words now cut into her skin, pain seared, not across the back of her hand, but across the scar on her palm. At the same time, she had a most peculiar sensation somewhere around her midriff, she wondered if Harry felt it as well. She wrenched her arm out of her grip and leapt to her feet, staring at her. Umbridge looked back at her, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth.

"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" she said softly. Christina did not answer. Her heart was thumping very hard and fast. Was she talking about his hand or did she know what he had just felt in her palm?

"Well, I think I've made my point, Ms. Bataskill. You may go." Christina caught up her schoolbag and left the room as quickly as she could. Stay calm, she told herself as she sprinted up the stairs. Stay calm, it doesn't necessarily mean what you think it means. . . .

"Mimbulus mimbletonia!" she gasped at the Fat Lady, who swung forward once more. A roar of sound greeted her. Ron came running toward her, beaming all over his face and slopping butterbeer down his front from the goblet he was clutching.

"Christina, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!"

"What? Oh — brilliant!" said Christina, trying to smile naturally, while her heart continued to race and her hand throbbed and bled. "Have a butterbeer." Ron pressed a bottle onto her. "I can't believe it — where's Hermione gone?"

"She's there," said Fred, who was also swigging butterbeer, and pointed to an armchair by the fire. Hermione was dozing in it, her drink tipping precariously in her hand.

"Well, she said she was pleased when I told her," said Ron, looking slightly put out.

"Let her sleep," said George hastily. It was a few moments before Christina noticed that several of the first years gathered around them bore unmistakable signs of recent nosebleeds.

"Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you," called Katie Bell. "We can take off his name and put yours on instead. . . ." As Ron moved away, Angelina came striding up to Christina.

"Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Bataskill," she said abruptly. "It's stressful, this managing lark, you know, I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes." She was watching Ron over the rim of her goblet with a slight frown on her face.

"Look, I know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous," she said bluntly. "I think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies, she admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charm Club she'd put Charms first. Anyway, we're having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time." She nodded and Angelina strolled back to Alicia Spinnet. Christina moved over to sit next to Hermione, who awoke with a jerk as she put down her bag. "Oh, Christina, it's you. . . . Good about Ron, isn't it?" she said blearily.

"I'm just so — so — so tired," she yawned. "I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!" And sure enough, now that she looked, Christina saw that there were woolly hats concealed all around the room where unwary elves might accidentally pick them up.

"Great," said Christina distractedly; if she did not tell somebody soon, she would burst. "Listen, Hermione, I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm . . ." Hermione listened closely. When Christina had finished she said slowly, "You're worried that You-Know-Who's controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?"

"Well," said Christina, dropping her voice, "it's a possibility, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," said Hermione, though she sounded unconvinced. "But I don't think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose. . . ." Christina watched Fred, George, and Lee Jordan juggling empty butterbeer bottles for a moment. Then Hermione said, "But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you, and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do with what You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this hasn't got anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?"

"She's evil," said Christina flatly. "Twisted."

"She's horrible, yes, but . . . Christina, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt. Did Harry's hurt too?" It was the second time in two days she had been advised to go to Dumbledore and her answer to Hermione was just the same as her answer to Ron. "I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer — it was just a bit worse tonight, that's all —"

"Christina, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this —"

"Yeah," said Christina, before she could stop herself, "that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?"

"Don't say that, it's not true!"

"I think I'll write and tell Sirius about it, see what he thinks —"

"Christina, you can't put something like that in a letter!" said Hermione, looking alarmed. "Don't you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted anymore!"

"All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!" said Christina irritably. She got to his feet. "I'm going to bed"

"Oh no," said Hermione, looking relieved, "if you're going that means I can go without being rude too, I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, I'm getting better, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now." Christina looked into her face, which was shining with glee, and tried to look as though she was vaguely tempted by this offer.

"Er . . . no, I don't think I will, thanks," Christina said. "Er — not tomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do. . . ." And they traipsed off to the girls' stairs, but Christina was grabbed by the arm and turned around. It was Fred, who looked extremely serious. He took her right hand and saw the blood.

"Ron told me to come talk to you." Christina looked at him in a panic but didn't say anything. "I'll kill her!"

"Fred, no! Don't even think about doing anything" she said as he started getting riled up. "Are you mad! She torturing you!" he said in a forced whisper. She grabbed Fred's shoulder and their eyes connected.

"Fred I promise you, I will ruin that woman's life, just not yet."


	13. Chapter 13: Outside Help

Fred and Christina talked in the common room for what seemed like hours. He was both upset and understanding of the situation and Christina was both exhausted yet grateful to stay up to talk with him.

"Why didn't you just shut out the pain? Like you did last summer?" Fred was referring to when Christina and Harry during class both fell asleep and dreamt of Voldemort, the pain woke Harry up, and Harry screaming woke Christina up.

"It would've made the cut worse, and she doesn't know about my natural power I didn't want her to have any inkling that there's something different about me." The last time Christina shut out the pain of her scar it split open and bled freely, however, if she just let the pain affect her the scar would've remained intact. It was a lose-lose situation. Eventually they both headed to bed.

Christina awoke much later after a somewhat restful, but very deep sleep. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on forever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson. The sound of girls yawning and squeaky beds woke her and she noticed Hermione was already dressed. She quickly got ready and headed down for breakfast, meeting Ron in the common room and without any sign of Harry they left for the Great Hall.

"Ron, you didn't hear anything about Harry's scar hurting-"

"It did!" he interrupted. Christina hoped he wasn't in Dumbledore's office.

"Great." She said worried.

"I wouldn't worry though, he's probably at the Quidditch pitch" Ron added looking slightly ill. Ron being made Keeper had completely slipped her mind but she still flashed a smile and sat at their usual spot at the Gryffindor table.

"Wish you could've seen the try-outs, some blokes really think-Harry!" said Ron.

"Morning," Harry said brightly, joining them at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

"What are you looking so pleased about?" said Christina, eyeing Harry in surprise.

"Erm . . . Quidditch later," said Harry happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs toward him.

"Yeah . . ." said Christina suspiciously. She watched him eat for a second, he looked absolutely giddy. Surely a meeting with Dumbledore about Voldemort couldn't have let to his elated mood.

Ron put down the bit of toast he was eating and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. Then he said, "Listen . . . you both don't fancy going out a bit earlier with me, do you? Just to — er — give me some practice before training? So I can, you know, get my eye in a bit . . ."

"Yeah, okay," said Harry.

"Totally" Christina added.

"Look, I don't think you should," said Hermione seriously, "you're all really behind on homework as it —" But she broke off; the morning post was arriving and, as usual, the Daily Prophet was soaring toward her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg; Hermione pushed a Knut into its leather pouch, took the newspaper, and scanned the front page critically as the owl took off again.

"Anything interesting?" said Ron; Christina smiled — she knew Ron was keen to get her off the subject of homework.

"No," she sighed, "just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married. . . ." She opened the paper and disappeared behind it.

"Wait a moment," said Hermione suddenly. "Oh no . . . Sirius!"

"What's happened?" said Harry, and he snatched at the paper so violently that it ripped down the middle so that he and Hermione were holding half each.

" 'The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer . . . blah blah blah . . . is currently hiding in London!' " Hermione read from her half in an anguished whisper.

"Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything," said Christina in a low, furious voice. "He did recognize Sirius on the platform. . . ."

"What?" said Ron, looking alarmed. "You didn't say —"

"Shh!" said the others. ". . . 'Ministry warns Wizarding community that Black is very dangerous . . . killed thirteen people . . . broke out of Azkaban . . .' the usual rubbish," Hermione concluded, laying down her half of the paper and looking fearfully at them. "Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all," she whispered. "Dumbledore did warn him not to."

"Hey!" Harry said, flattening it down so Hermione and Ron could both see it. "Look at this!"

"I've got all the robes I want," said Ron.

"No," said Harry, "look . . . this little piece here . . ." Christina, Ron and Hermione bent closer to read it; the item was barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It was headlined:

 **TRESPASS AT MINISTRY**

 _Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defense, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban._

"Sturgis Podmore?" said Ron slowly, "but he's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord —"

"Ron, shh!" said Hermione, casting a terrified look around them.

"Six months in Azkaban!" whispered Harry, shocked. "Just for trying to get through a door!"

"Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door — what on earth was he doing at the Ministry of Magic at one o'clock in the morning?" breathed Hermione.

"D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?" Christina muttered.

"Wait a moment. . . ." said Harry slowly. "Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember?" The others looked at him. "Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up, so that doesn't seem like he was supposed to be on a job for them, does it?"

"Well, maybe they didn't expect him to get caught," said Hermione.

"It could be a frame-up!" Ron exclaimed excitedly.

"No — listen!" Ron went on, dropping his voice dramatically at the threatening look on Hermione's face. "The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so — I dunno — they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!" There was a pause while Christina and Hermione considered this. Christina thought it seemed far-fetched; Hermione, on the other hand, looked rather impressed and said, "Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true." She folded up her half of the newspaper thoughtfully. When Christina laid down her knife and fork she seemed to come out of a reverie.

"Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on SelfFertilizing Shrubs first, and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus before lunch. . . ." Christina felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of the pile of homework awaiting her upstairs, but the sky was a clear, exhilarating blue, and she had not been on her broom for a while. . . .

"I mean, we can do it tonight," said Ron, as she, Harry, and Ron walked down the sloping lawns toward the Quidditch pitch, their broomsticks over their shoulders, Hermione's dire warnings that they would fail all their O.W.L.s still ringing in their ears.

"And we've got tomorrow. She gets too worked up about work, that's her trouble. . . ." There was a pause and he added, in a slightly more anxious tone, "D'you think she meant it when she said we weren't copying from her?"

"Yeah, I do." said Christina darkly.

"Still, this is important too, we've got to practice if we want to stay on the Quidditch team. . . ." added Harry. She nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, that's right," said Ron in a heartened tone. "And we have got plenty of time to do it all. . . ." Christina glanced over to her right as they approached the Quidditch pitch, to where the trees of the Forbidden Forest were swaying darkly. They collected balls from the cupboard in the changing room and set to work, Ron guarding the three tall goalposts, Harry and Christina playing Chaser and trying to get the Quaffle past Ron. Christina thought Ron was pretty good; he blocked three-quarters of the goals Harry attempted to put past him and played better the longer they practiced. He had more difficulty blocking the balls Christina whizzed by him but that's because she was an excellent Chaser, and Harry never played Chaser. After a couple of hours they returned to the school, where they ate lunch, during which Hermione made it quite clear that she thought they were irresponsible, then returned to the Quidditch pitch for the real training session. All their teammates but Angelina were already in the changing room when they entered.

"All right, Ron?" said George, winking at him.

"Yeah," said Ron, who had become quieter and quieter all the way down to the pitch.

"Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?" said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face.

"Shut up," said Ron, stony-faced, pulling on his own team robes for the first time. They fitted him well considering they had been Oliver Wood's, who was rather broader in the shoulder.

"Be nice, he blocked one out of the twelve quaffles I threw at him and I'm the best goddamn Chaser around!" she said jokingly. However, Ron did not find it funny, especially not when she high-fived both Fred and George.

"Okay everyone," said Angelina, entering from the Captain's office, already changed. "Let's get to it; Alicia and Fred, if you can just bring the ball crate out for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching but I want you to just ignore them, all right?" Something in her would-be casual voice made Christina think she might know who the uninvited spectators were, and sure enough, when they left the changing room for the bright sunlight of the pitch it was to a storm of catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium.

"I have a distinct feeling they may get a quaffle in the face during this practice. . . "Christina said quietly to Fred, however Angelina overheard.

"Bataskill, if you land yourself in detention again and miss practice you will not be on the team!" Angelina roared.

"I wont!" Christina responded politely then looking up to Fred and winked.

"What's that Weasley's riding?" Malfoy called in his sneering drawl. "Why would anyone put a Flying Charm on a moldy old log like that?" Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson guffawed and shrieked with laughter. Ron mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground and Harry followed him. She mounted her broom as well and kicked off heading their way, Angelina right behind her.

"Okay everyone, we're going to start with some passes just to warm up, the whole team please —"

"Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle anyway?" shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. "Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?" Angelina swept her long braided hair out of her face and said calmly, "Spread out, then, and let's see what we can do. . . ." Harry reversed away from the others to the far side of the pitch. Ron fell back toward the opposite goal. Angelina raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to Fred, who passed to George, who passed to Christina, who passed to Harry, who passed to Ron, who dropped it. The Slytherins, led by Malfoy, roared and screamed with laughter. Ron, who had pelted toward the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, blushing. Christina and the twins exchanged looks, but uncharacteristically none of them said anything.

"Pass it on, Ron," called Angelina, as though nothing had happened. Ron threw the Quaffle to Alicia, who passed back to Harry, who passed to George. . . .

"Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?" called Malfoy. "Sure you don't need a lie-down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?" Fred passed to Angelina; she reverse passed to Harry, who clumsily caught it in the very tips of his fingers and passed it quickly to Ron, who lunged for it and missed by inches.

"Come on now, Ron," said Angelina crossly, as Ron dived for the ground again, chasing the Quaffle. "Pay attention." It would have been hard to say whether Ron's face or the Quaffle was a deeper scarlet when he returned again to playing height. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team were howling with laughter. On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight through Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.

"Sorry!" Ron groaned, zooming forward to see whether he had done any damage.

"Get back in position, she's fine!" barked Angelina. "But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!" Katie's nose was bleeding. Down below the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie. "Here, take this," Fred told her, handing her something small and purple from out of his pocket. "It'll clear it up in no time."

"All right," called Angelina, "Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger; Ron, get up to the goalposts, Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously." Christina, Alicia, and Angelina got in position while Harry, Fred and George retrieved the other Quidditch equipment. They returned to the air. When Angelina blew her whistle, Harry released the Snitch and Fred and George let fly the Bludger and the real fun began. Christina loved Quidditch, however, this was not as much fun. She couldn't help but be distracted by Ron, and didn't feel the rush of joy as she triple-scored on Ron's post.

"Stop — stop – STOP!" screamed Angelina. "Ron — you're not covering your middle post!" Ron was hovering in front of the left-hand hoop, leaving the other two completely unprotected and open for Christina to score.

"Oh . . . sorry . . ."

"You keep shifting around while you're watching the Chasers!" said Angelina. "Either stay in center position until you have to move to defend a hoop, or else circle the hoops, but don't drift vaguely off to one side, that's how you let in the last three goals!"

"Sorry . . ." Ron repeated, his red face shining like a beacon against the bright blue sky. "And Katie, can't you do something about that nosebleed?"

"It's just getting worse!" said Katie thickly, attempting to stem the flow with her sleeve. Christina glanced around at Fred, who was looking anxious and checking his pockets. She saw Fred pull out something purple, examine it for a second, and then look around at Katie, evidently horrorstruck.

"Fred. . ." Christina muttered under her breath.

"Well, let's try again," said Angelina. She was ignoring the Slytherins, who had now set up a chant of "Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers," but there was a certain rigidity about her seat on the broom nevertheless. This time they had been flying for barely three minutes when Angelina's whistle sounded. Christina, who was just seconds from making a pass at Ron whipped around and saw Angelina, Fred, and George all flying as fast as they could toward Katie. Harry and Alicia sped toward her too. It was plain that Angelina had stopped training just in time; Katie was now chalk-white and covered in blood.

"She needs the hospital wing," said Angelina.

"We'll take her," said Fred. "She — er — might have swallowed a Blood Blisterpod by mistake —"

"Well, there's no point continuing with no Beaters and a Chaser gone," said Angelina glumly, as Fred and George zoomed off toward the castle supporting Katie between them. "Come on, let's go and get changed." The Slytherins continued to chant as they trailed back into the changing rooms.

"How was practice?" asked Hermione rather coolly half an hour later, as Christina, Harry and Ron climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.

"It was —" Harry began.

"Completely lousy," said Ron in a hollow voice, sinking into a chair beside Hermione. She looked up at Ron and her frostiness seemed to melt. "Well, it was only your first one," she said consolingly, "it's bound to take time to —"

"Who said it was me who made it lousy?" snapped Ron.

"No one," said Hermione, looking taken aback, "I thought —"

"You thought I was bound to be rubbish?"

"No, of course I didn't! Look, you said it was lousy so I just —"

"I'm going to get started on some homework," said Ron angrily and stomped off to the staircase to the boys' dormitories and vanished from sight. Hermione turned to Christina and Harry. "Was he lousy?"

"No," said Harry loyally and Christina shot him a look. "Well, I suppose he could've played better," Harry muttered, "but it was only the first training session, like you said. . . ."

Katie returned back the next morning and Fred and George could not have been more shocked by the whole incident. Christina, Ron, and Harry spent the whole of Sunday in the common room, buried in their books while the room around them filled up, then emptied: It was another clear, fine day and most of their fellow Gryffindors spent the day out in the grounds, enjoying what might well be some of the last sunshine that year. By the evening Christina felt as though somebody had been beating her brain against the inside of his skull.

"You know, we probably should try and get more homework done during the week," Harry muttered to Christina and Ron, as they finally laid aside Professor McGonagall's long essay on the Inanimatus Conjurus spell and turned miserably to Professor Sinistra's equally long and difficult essay about Jupiter's moons.

"Yeah," said Ron, rubbing slightly bloodshot eyes and throwing his fifth spoiled bit of parchment into the fire beside them.

"If only I didn't have detention for hours on end, I might actually not be suffering right now" Christina said miserably.

"Listen . . . shall we just ask Hermione if we can have a look at what she's done?" Harry glanced over at her; she was sitting with Crookshanks on her lap and chatting merrily to Ginny as a pair of knitting needles flashed in midair in front of her, now knitting a pair of shapeless elf socks.

"No," she said heavily, "you know she won't let us." And so they worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker; slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin again. At half-past eleven, Hermione wandered over to them, yawning.

"Nearly done?"

"No," said Ron shortly. "Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto," she said, pointing over Ron's shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, "and it's Io that's got the volcanos."

"Thanks," snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences.

"Sorry, I only —"

"Yeah, well, if you've just come over here to criticize —"

"Ron —"

"I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I'm up to my neck in it here —"

"No — look!" Hermione was pointing to the nearest window. Christina, Harry and Ron looked over. A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron.

"Isn't that Hermes?" said Hermione, sounding amazed.

"Blimey, it is!" said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. "What's Percy writing to me for?" He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed upon Ron's essay, and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took it off and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io.

"That's definitely Percy's handwriting," said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: To Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at the others. "What d'you reckon?"

"Open it!" said Hermione eagerly. Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The farther down the parchment his eyes traveled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter at Christina, Harry and Hermione, who leaned toward each other to read it together:

 _Dear Ron,_

 _I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister of Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect. I was most pleasantly surprised when I heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the "Fred and George" route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility. But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions. From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter and Christina Bataskill. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternization with those two. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this — no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favorite — but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different — and probably more accurate — view of their behavior. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing — and see if you can spot yours truly! Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter and Bataskill, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted them to court, Potter and Bataskill had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and they did not come out of it looking too good. They got off on a mere technicality if you ask me and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of their guilt. It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with them — I know that they can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent — but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in their behavior that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a really delightful woman, who I know will be only too happy to advise you. As I'm sure you are aware Bataskill has been 'seeing' Fred, which really only speaks to her character further of having no respect for authority and a complete lack of judgement. This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that so far Professor Umbridge is encountering very little cooperation from staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week — again, see the Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this — a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well placed for Head Boyship in a couple of years! I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticize our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore (if you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders). I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people — the Minister really could not be more gracious to me — and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realize how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes. Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Potter and Bataskill, and congratulations again on becoming prefect._

 _Your brother,_

 _Percy_

"Well," Harry said, trying to sound as though he found the whole thing a joke, "if you want to — er — what is it?" (He checked Percy's letter.) "Oh yeah — 'sever ties' with me, I swear I won't get violent."

"Give it back," said Ron, holding out his hand. "He is —" Ron said jerkily, tearing Percy's letter in half, "the world's" — he tore it into quarters — "biggest" — he tore it into eighths — "git." He threw the pieces into the fire. "Come on, we've got to get this finished some time before dawn," he said briskly to Christina and Harry, pulling Professor Sinistra's essay back toward him. Christina was less humored by the letter and more upset. She could count the times she saw Percy in her life on one hand and still he so vehemently despised her . . .it made her sick. Hermione was looking at Ron with an odd expression on her face.

"Oh, give them here," she said abruptly.

"What?" said Ron.

"Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them," she said.

"Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a lifesaver," said Ron, "what can I — ?"

"What you can say is, 'We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again,' " she said, holding out both hands for their essays, but she looked slightly amused all the same.

"Thanks a million, Hermione," said Christina weakly, passing over her essay and sinking back into his armchair, rubbing her eyes. It was now past midnight and the common room was deserted but for the four of them and Crookshanks. The only sound was that of Hermione's quill scratching out sentences here and there on their essays and the ruffle of pages as she checked various facts in the reference books strewn across the table. Christina was exhausted. She also felt an odd, sick, empty feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with the letter now curling blackly in the heart of the fire. She knew that half the people inside Hogwarts thought she and Harry strange, even mad; she knew that the Daily Prophet had been making snide allusions to her for months, but there was something about seeing it written down like that in Percy's writing, about knowing that Percy was advising Ron to drop Harry and her and even to tell tales on them to Umbridge, that made her situation real to her as nothing else had.

She had known Percy for two years, had stayed in his house during the summers, shared a tent with him during the Quidditch World Cup, had even been awarded full marks by him in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament last year, yet now, Percy thought her unbalanced and possibly violent. And with a surge of sympathy for Harry's godfather, Christina thought that Sirius was probably the only person she knew who could really understand how she felt at the moment, because Sirius was in the same situation; nearly everyone in the Wizarding world thought Sirius a dangerous murderer and a great Voldemort supporter and he had had to live with that knowledge for twenty years. . . . Christina blinked. She had just seen something in the fire that could not have been there. It had flashed into sight and vanished immediately. No . . . it could not have been. . . . She had imagined it because she had been thinking about Sirius. . . .

"Okay, write that down," Hermione said to Ron, pushing his essay and a sheet covered in her own writing back to Ron, "and then copy out this conclusion that I've written for you."

"Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met," said Ron weakly, "and if I'm ever rude to you again —"

"— I'll know you're back to normal," said Hermione. "Christina, yours is okay except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice — Christina?" Christina had slid off her chair onto her knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames.

"Er — Christina?" said Ron uncertainly. "Why are you down there?"

"Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire," said Christina. Harry rushed over and joined her, searching for a face in the flames.

"Sirius's head?" Hermione repeated. "You mean like when he wanted to talk to Harry during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too — Sirius!" She gasped, gazing at the fire; Ron dropped his quill. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair falling around his grinning face.

"I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared," he said. "I've been checking every hour."

"You've been popping into the fire every hour?" Harry said, half laughing.

"Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear yet."

"But what if you'd been seen?" said Hermione anxiously. "Well, I think a girl — first year by the look of her — might've got a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry," Sirius said hastily, as Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. "I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly shaped log or something."

"But Sirius, this is taking an awful risk —" Hermione began.

"You sound like Molly," said Sirius.

"Burn! Ha, fire pun" Christina said, Hermione shook her head.

"This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code — and codes are breakable." At the mention of Harry's letter, Christina, Hermione and Ron had turned to stare at him.

"You didn't say you'd written to Sirius!" said Hermione accusingly.

"I forgot," said Harry."Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?"

"No, it was very good," said Sirius, smiling. "Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed — your scar."

"That's right you felt it too!" Christina said excitedly.

"Yours hurt too?" Harry asked incredulously.

"What about — ?" Ron began, but Hermione said quickly, "We'll tell you afterward, go on, Sirius."

"Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think it's anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?"

"Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion," said Harry.

"So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention." Christina said slowly.

"Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often," said Sirius.

"So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?" Christina asked.

"I doubt it, especially since Harry wasn't there and felt it as well," said Sirius. "I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater —"

"She's foul enough to be one," said Christina darkly and Harry, Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters," said Sirius with a wry smile. "I know she's a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her."

"Does Lupin know her?" asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge's comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson.

"No," said Sirius, "but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job." Christina remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further.

"What's she got against werewolves?" said Hermione angrily.

"Scared of them, I expect," said Sirius, smiling at her indignation. "Apparently she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose —" Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset.

"Sirius!" she said reproachfully. "Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher I'm sure he'd respond, after all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said —"

"So what are Umbridge's lessons like?" Sirius interrupted. "Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?"

"No," said Harry, ignoring Hermione's affronted look at being cut off in her defense of Kreacher. "She's not letting us use magic at all!"

"All we do is read the stupid textbook," said Ron.

"Ah, well, that figures," said Sirius. "Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."

"Trained in combat?" repeated Harry incredulously. "What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?"

"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," said Sirius, "or rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing — forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic." There was a pause at this, then Ron said, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with."

"So we're being prevented from learning Defense Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?" said Hermione, looking furious.

"Yep," said Sirius. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge." This reminded Christina of Percy's letter. "D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Only Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be —"

"I don't know," said Sirius, "I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher and me here. . . ." There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice.

"So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?" Harry added.

"Ah . . ." said Sirius, "well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him." Then, seeing their stricken faces, he added quickly, "But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you four get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine."

"But if he was supposed to be back by now . . ." said Hermione in a small, worried voice.

"Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home — but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or — well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly okay." Unconvinced, Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged worried looks.

"Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid," said Sirius hastily, "it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back, and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay." And when they did not appear cheered by this, Sirius added, "When's your next Hogsmeade weekend anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could —"

"NO!" said Harry and Hermione together, very loudly.

"Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?" said Hermione anxiously.

"Oh that," said Sirius, grinning, "they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue —"

"Yeah, but we think this time they have," said Harry. "Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius — you know, Lucius Malfoy — so don't come up here, whatever you do, if Malfoy recognizes you again —"

"All right, all right, I've got the point," said Sirius. He looked most displeased. Christina felt bad, she would've loved for Sirius to visit but Harry and Hermione seemed so adamant. "Just an idea, thought you might like to get together —"

"I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!" said Harry. There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes.

"You're less like your father than I thought," he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. "The risk would've been what made it fun for James."

"Look —"

"Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs," said Sirius, but Christina was sure he was lying. "I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?"

"Sirius, wait!" Christina said but there was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius's head had been was flickering flame once more.


	14. Chapter 14: The Hogwarts High Inquisitor

They had expected to have to comb Hermione's Daily Prophet carefully next morning to find the article Percy had mentioned in his letter. However, the departing delivery owl had barely cleared the top of the milk jug when Hermione let out a huge gasp and flattened the newspaper to reveal a large photograph of Dolores Umbridge, smiling widely and blinking slowly at them from beneath the headline:

 **MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"**

" 'High Inquisitor'?" said Harry darkly, his half-eaten bit of toast slipping from his fingers.

"What does that mean?" asked Christina. Hermione read aloud:

"In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." 'The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time,' said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. 'He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve.'

"This is not the first time in recent weeks Fudge has used new laws to effect improvements at the Wizarding school. As recently as August 30th Educational Decree Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.

" 'That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts,' said Weasley last night. 'Dumbledore couldn't find anyone, so the Minister put in Umbridge and of course, she's been an immediate success —' "

"She's been a WHAT?" said Christina loudly.

"Wait, there's more," said Hermione grimly. " '— an immediate success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-theground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts.' "It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalized with the passing of Educational Decree Twenty-three, which creates the new position of 'Hogwarts High Inquisitor.' " 'This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the "falling standards" at Hogwarts,' said Weasley. 'The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post, and we are delighted to say that she has accepted.' "The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts.

" 'I feel much easier in my mind now that I know that Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation,' said Mr. Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. 'Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and will be glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation.'

"Among those 'eccentric decisions' are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the hiring of werewolf Remus Lupin, half giant Rubeus Hagrid, and delusional ex-Auror 'Mad-Eye' Moody. "Rumors abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogwarts.

" 'I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step toward ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose confidence,' said a Ministry insider last night. "Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts.

" 'Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office,' said Madam Marchbanks. 'This is a further disgusting attempt to discredit Albus Dumbledore.' (For a full account of Madam Marchbanks' alleged links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page 17)." Hermione finished reading and looked across the table at the other three.

"So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this 'Educational Decree' and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect other teachers!" Hermione was breathing fast and her eyes were very bright. "I can't believe this. It's outrageous. . . ."

"I know it is," said Harry. Christina looked down at her right hand, clenched upon the tabletop, and saw the faint white outline of the words Umbridge had forced her to cut into her skin. But a grin was unfurling on Ron's face.

"What?" said the other three together, staring at him.

"Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected," said Ron happily. "Umbridge won't know what's hit her."

"Well, come on," said Hermione, jumping up, "we'd better get going, if she's inspecting Binns's class we don't want to be late. . . ." But Professor Umbridge was not inspecting their History of Magic lesson, which was just as dull as the previous Monday, nor was she in Snape's dungeon when they arrived for double Potions, where Christina's moonstone essay was handed back to her with a large, spiky black A scrawled in an upper corner. Acceptable was the lowest possibly passing grade.

"I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your O.W.L," said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. "This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in your examination." Snape reached the front of the class and turned to face them.

"The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get D's." He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, "Some people got D's? Ha!" Christina realized that Hermione was looking sideways to see what grade she had received; she slid her moonstone essay back into her bag as quickly as possible, feeling that she would rather keep that information private. Christina read and reread every line of the instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. Her Strengthening Solution was not precisely the clear turquoise shade of Hermione's but it was at least blue rather than pink, like Neville's, and she delivered a flask of it to Snape's desk at the end of the lesson with a feeling of mingled defiance and relief.

"Well, that wasn't as bad as last week, was it?" said Hermione, as they climbed the steps out of the dungeon and made their way across the entrance hall toward lunch. "And the homework didn't go too badly either, did it?"

"Not a D but not great" Christina said. When neither Ron nor Harry answered, Hermionr pressed on, "I mean, all right, I didn't expect the top grade, not if he's marking to O.W.L. standard, but a pass is quite encouraging at this stage, wouldn't you say?" Harry made a noncommittal noise in his throat.

"Of course, a lot can happen between now and the exam, we've got plenty of time to improve, but the grades we're getting now are a sort of baseline, aren't they? Something we can build on . . ." They sat down together at the Gryffindor table. "Obviously, I'd have been thrilled if I'd gotten an O —"

"Hermione," said Ron sharply, "if you want to know what grades we got, ask."

"I don't — I didn't mean — well, if you want to tell me —"

"I got a P," said Ron, ladling soup into his bowl. "Happy?"

"Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of," said Fred, who had just arrived at the table with George and Lee Jordan and was sitting down on Christina's right. "Nothing wrong with a good healthy P."

"But," said Hermione, "doesn't P stand for . . ."

" 'Poor,' yeah," said Lee Jordan. "Still, better than D, isn't it? 'Dreadful'?"

"So top grade's O for 'Outstanding,' " she was saying, "and then there's A —"

"No, E," George corrected her, "E for 'Exceeds Expectations.' And I've always thought Fred and I should've got E in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams." They all laughed except Hermione, who plowed on, "So after E, it's A for 'Acceptable,' and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?"

"Yep," said Fred, dunking an entire roll in his soup, transferring it to his mouth, and swallowing it whole.

"Then you get P for 'Poor' " — Ron raised both his arms in mock celebration — "and D for 'Dreadful.' "

"And then T," George reminded him.

"T?" asked Hermione, looking appalled. "Even lower than a D? What on earth does that stand for?"

" 'Troll,' " said George promptly. Christina laughed again, though she was not sure whether or not George was joking. She imagined trying to conceal from Hermione that she had received T's in all her O.W.L.s and immediately resolved to work harder from now on.

"You lot had an inspected lesson yet?" Fred asked them.

"No," said Hermione at once, "have you?"

"Just now, before lunch," said George. "Charms."

"What was it like?" Christina and Hermione asked together. Fred shrugged. "Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it."

"I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down," said George, "he usually gets everyone through their exams all right."

"Who've you got this afternoon?" Fred asked Christina. "Trelawney —"

"A T if ever I saw one —"

"— and Umbridge herself."

"Well, be a good girl and keep your temper with Umbridge today," said George. "Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices." But Christina did not have to wait for Defense Against the Dark Arts to meet Professor Umbridge. She was pulling out her dream diary in a seat at the very back of the shadowy Divination room when she saw Professor Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerily, fell silent at once. The abrupt fall in the noise level made Professor Trelawney, who had been wafting about handing out Dream Oracles, look round.

"Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney," said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?" Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag, and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin. Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses.

"We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today," she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly.

"Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each other's latest nighttime visions with the aid of the Oracle." She made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Professor Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left toward Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati's most recent dream.

Christina turned to Neville and opened her copy of The Dream Oracle, watching Umbridge covertly while Neville spewed on about his recent dreams. Umbridge was making notes on her clipboard now. After a few minutes she got to her feet and began to pace the room in Trelawney's wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there. Christina bent her head hurriedly over her book. Professor Umbridge was now standing at Professor Trelawney's shoulder making notes while the Divination teacher questioned Neville about his dream diary. Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out.

"Now," said Umbridge, looking up at Trelawney, "you've been in this post how long, exactly?" Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, "Nearly sixteen years."

"Quite a period," said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. "So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?"

"That's right," said Professor Trelawney shortly. Professor Umbridge made another note. "And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?"

"Yes," said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher. Another note on the clipboard. "But I think — correct me if I am mistaken — that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of second sight?"

"These things often skip — er — three generations," said Professor Trelawney. Professor Umbridge's toadlike smile widened.

"Of course," she said sweetly, making yet another note. "Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?" She looked up inquiringly, still smiling. Professor Trelawney had stiffened as though unable to believe her ears.

"I don't understand you," said Professor Trelawney, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck.

"I'd like you to make a prediction for me," said Professor Umbridge very clearly. Neville stopped talking about his dream and he too was engrossed in the conversation. Christina looked around and they were not the only people watching and listening sneakily from behind their books now; most of the class were staring transfixed at Professor Trelawney as she drew herself up to her full height, her beads and bangles clinking.

"The Inner Eye does not See upon command!" she said in scandalized tones.

"I see," said Professor Umbridge softly, making yet another note on her clipboard.

"I — but — but . . . wait!" said Professor Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice, though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. "I . . . I think I do see something . . . something that concerns you. . . . Why, I sense something . . . something dark . . . some grave peril . . ." Professor Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Professor Umbridge who continued to smile blandly at her, eyebrows raised. "I am afraid . . . I am afraid that you are in grave danger!" Professor Trelawney finished dramatically. There was a pause. Professor Umbridge's eyebrows were still raised.

"Right," she said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. "Well, if that's really the best you can do . . ." She turned away, leaving Professor Trelawney standing rooted to the spot, her chest heaving. Christina caught Harry's eye and knew that Harry was thinking exactly the same as she was: They both knew that Professor Trelawney was an old fraud, but on the other hand, they loathed Umbridge so much that they felt very much on Trelawney's side — until she swooped down on Harry and Ron a few seconds later, that was.

"Well?" she said, snapping her long fingers under Harry's nose, uncharacteristically brisk. "Let me see the start you've made on your dream diary, please." And by the time she had interpreted Harry's dreams at the top of her voice (all of which, even the ones that involved eating porridge, apparently foretold a gruesome and early death), she was feeling much less sympathetic toward her. All the while, Professor Umbridge stood a few feet away, making notes on that clipboard, and when the bell rang she descended the silver ladder first so that she was waiting for them all when they reached their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson ten minutes later. She was humming and smiling to herself when they entered the room. Christina, Harry and Ron told Hermione, who had been in Arithmancy, exactly what had happened in Divination while they all took out their copies of Defensive Magical Theory, but before Hermione could ask any questions Professor Umbridge had called them all to order and silence fell.

"Wands away," she instructed them all smilingly, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out sadly returned them to their bags. "As we finished chapter one last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk." Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as it turned, as one, to page nineteen. Christina wondered dully whether there were enough chapters in the book to keep them reading through all this year's lessons and was on the point of checking the contents when she noticed that Hermione had her hand in the air again. Professor Umbridge had noticed too, and what was more, she seemed to have worked out a strategy for just such an eventuality. Instead of trying to pretend she had not noticed Hermione, she got to her feet and walked around the front row of desks until they were face-to-face, then she bent down and whispered, so that the rest of the class could not hear, "What is it this time, Miss Granger?"

"I've already read chapter two," said Hermione. "Well then, proceed to chapter three."

"I've read that too. I've read the whole book." Professor Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly. "Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counterjinxes in ."

"He says that counterjinxes are improperly named," said Hermione promptly. "He says 'counterjinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable." Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows, and Christina knew she was impressed against her will. "But I disagree," Hermione continued. Professor Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder.

"You disagree?"

"Yes, I do," said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whispering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had by now attracted the rest of the class's attention. "Mr. Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."

"Oh, you do, do you?" said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. "Well, I'm afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."

"But —" Hermione began.

"That is enough," said Professor Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House." There was an outbreak of muttering at this.

"What for?" said Harry angrily.

"Don't you get involved!" Hermione whispered urgently to him.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," said Professor Umbridge smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them — with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects — would have passed a Ministry inspection —"

"Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher," said Harry loudly, "there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head." Christina snorted and immediately covered her mouth. This pronouncement was followed by one of the loudest silences Christina had ever heard. Then — "I think a week's worth of detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge sleekly. "You too Ms. Bataskil."

"WHAT!" Christina roared. "I didn't say anything!" Christina was gripping her wooden desk with such strength that a chunk of the wood flew off and cut her hand.

"Enough! And another five points from Gryffindor for damaging school property. Christina wasn't sure how on earth she was supposed to contain herself so she got up and left, slamming the door behind her.

The cut on the back of Christina's hand had barely healed and by the following morning, it was bleeding again. She did not complain during the evening's detention; she was determined not to give Umbridge the satisfaction; over and over again she ad Harry wrote I must not tell lies and not a sound escaped her lips, though the cut deepened with every letter. Harry was shocked at first but fortunately felt the same rage Christina did, and didn't budge when it came to the pain.

The very worst part of this second week's worth of detentions was, just as George had predicted, Angelina's reaction. She cornered Christina and Harry just as she arrived at the Gryffindor table for breakfast on Tuesday and shouted so loudly that Professor McGonagall came sweeping down upon the pair of them from the staff table.

"Miss Johnson, how dare you make such a racket in the Great Hall! Five points from Gryffindor!"

"But Professor — both've em' have gone and landed themselves in detention again —"

"What's this?" said Professor McGonagall sharply, rounding on Christina and Harry. "Detention? From whom?"

"From Professor Umbridge," muttered Harry, not meeting Professor McGonagall's beady, square-framed eyes.

"Are you telling me," she said, lowering her voice so that the group of curious Ravenclaws behind them could not hear, "that after the warning I gave you Ms. Bataskill last Monday you lost your temper in Professor Umbridge's class again?"

"No! Harry made a comment about Lord Voldemort and I laughed, I didn't say anything!" Christina said angrily.

"Bataskill, you must get a grip on yourself! You are heading for serious trouble! Another five points from Gryffindor!"

"But — what? Professor, no!" Harry said, furious at this injustice. "I'm already being punished by her, why do you have to take points as well?"

"Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!" said Professor McGonagall tartly. "No, not another word of complaint! And as for you, Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in future or risk losing the team Captaincy!" She strode back toward the staff table. Angelina gave Christina and Harry a look of deepest disgust and stalked away.

"She's taken points off Gryffindor because we're having our hands sliced open every night! How is that fair, how?"

"I know, mate," said Ron sympathetically, tipping bacon onto Harry's plate, "she's bang out of order." Hermione, however, merely rustled the pages of her Daily Prophet and said nothing.

"You think McGonagall was right, do you?" said Christina angrily to the picture of Cornelius Fudge obscuring Hermione's face.

"I wish she hadn't taken points from you, but I think she's right to warn you not to lose your temper with Umbridge," said Hermione's voice, while Fudge gesticulated forcefully from the front page, clearly giving some kind of speech. Christina did not speak to Hermione all through Charms, but when they entered Transfiguration she forgot her anger; Professor Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner and the sight of her drove the memory of breakfast right out of her head.

"Excellent," whispered Ron, as they sat down in their usual seats. "Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves." Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Professor Umbridge was there.

"That will do," she said and silence fell immediately. "Mr. Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework — Miss Brown, please take this box of mice — don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you — and hand one to each student —"

"Hem, hem," said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed back Christina's essay; Christina took it without looking at him and saw, to her relief, that he had managed an E.

"Right then, everyone, listen closely — Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention — most of you have now successfully vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell. Today we shall be —"

"Hem, hem," said Professor Umbridge.

"Yes?" said Professor McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line. "I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec —"

"Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom," said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. "As I was saying, today we shall be practicing the altogether more difficult vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell —"

"Hem, hem."

"I wonder," said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, "how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking." Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more. "As I was saying, the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So — you know the incantation, let me see what you can do. . . ."

"How she can lecture me about not losing my temper with Umbridge!" Christina said to Harry under her voice, but she was grinning; her anger with Professor McGonagall had quite evaporated. Professor Umbridge did not follow Professor McGonagall around the class as she had followed Professor Trelawney; perhaps she thought that Professor McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more notes while she sat in her corner, and when Professor McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, rose with a grim expression on her face.

"Well, it's a start," said Ron, holding up a long, wriggling mouse tail and dropping it back into the box Lavender was passing around. As they filed out of the classroom, Christina saw Professor Umbridge approach the teacher's desk; she nudged Harry, who nudged Ron, who nudged Hermione in turn, and the four of them deliberately fell back to eavesdrop.

"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" Professor Umbridge asked.

"Thirty-nine years this December," said Professor McGonagall brusquely, snapping her bag shut. Professor Umbridge made a note.

"Very well," she said, "you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days' time."

"I can hardly wait," said Professor McGonagall in a coldly indifferent voice, and she strode off toward the door. "Hurry up, you four," she added, sweeping Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione before her. Christina could not help giving her a faint smile and could have sworn she received one in return. She had thought that the next time she would see Umbridge would be in her detention with Harry that evening, but she was wrong. When they walked down the lawns toward the forest for Care of Magical Creatures, they found her and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"You do not usually take this class, is that correct?" Christina heard her ask as they arrived at the trestle table where the group of captive bowtruckles were scrabbling around for wood lice like so many living twigs.

"Quite correct," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid." Christina saw Harry exchange uneasy looks with Ron and Hermione. Malfoy was whispering with Crabbe and Goyle; he would surely love this opportunity to tell tales on Hagrid to a member of the Ministry.

"Hmm," said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice, though Christina could still hear her quite clearly, "I wonder — the headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter — can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid's very extended leave of absence?" Christina saw Malfoy look up eagerly.

" 'Fraid I can't," said Professor Grubbly-Plank breezily. "Don't know anything more about it than you do. Got an owl from Dumbledore, would I like a couple of weeks teaching work, accepted — that's as much as I know. Well . . . shall I get started then?"

"Yes, please do," said Professor Umbridge, scribbling upon her clipboard. Umbridge took a different tack in this class and wandered among the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people were able to answer well and Christina's spirits lifted somewhat; at least the class was not letting Hagrid down.

"Overall," said Professor Umbridge, returning to Professor GrubblyPlank's side after a lengthy interrogation of Dean Thomas, "how do you, as a temporary member of staff — an objective outsider, I suppose you might say — how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?"

"Oh, yes, Dumbledore's excellent," said Professor Grubbly-Plank heartily. "No, I'm very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed." Looking politely incredulous, Umbridge made a tiny note on her clipboard and went on, "And what are you planning to cover with this class this year — assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?"

"Oh, I'll take them through the creatures that most often come up in O.W.L.," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Not much left to do — they've studied unicorns and nifflers, I thought we'd cover porlocks and kneazles, make sure they can recognize crups and knarls, you know. . . ."

"Well, you seem to know what you're doing, at any rate," said Professor Umbridge, making a very obvious tick on her clipboard. She put her next question to Goyle: "Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?" Goyle gave a stupid grin. Malfoy hastened to answer the question. "That was me," he said. "I was slashed by a hippogriff."

"A hippogriff?" said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically.

"Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do," said Harry angrily. Both Ron and Hermione groaned and Christina gritted her teeth. Professor Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry's direction.

"Another night's detention, I think," she said softly. "Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that's all I need here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days."

"Jolly good," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and Professor Umbridge set off back across the lawn to the castle. It was nearly midnight when Christina and Harry left Umbridge's office that night, Christina's hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf she had wrapped around it. She expected the common room to be empty when they returned, but Ron and Hermione had sat up waiting for them. She was pleased to see them, especially as Hermione was disposed to be sympathetic rather than critical.

"Here," she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid toward him, "soak your hand in that, it's a solution of strained and pickled murtlap tentacles, it should help." Christina placed her bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief, Harry's hand still hadn't bled yet. Crookshanks curled around Harry's legs, purring loudly, and then leapt into his lap and settled down.

"Thanks," Christina said gratefully.

"I still reckon you should complain about this," said Ron in a low voice.

"No," said Christina flatly. "McGonagall would go nuts if she knew —"

"Yeah, she probably would," said Harry. "And how long d'you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another Decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?" Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and after a moment he closed it again in a defeated sort of way.

"She's an awful woman," said Hermione in a small voice. "Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in . . . we've got to do something about her."

"I suggested poison," said Ron grimly. "No . . . I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any defense from her at all," said Hermione.

"Well, what can we do about that?" said Ron, yawning. " 'S too late, isn't it? She got the job, she's here to stay, Fudge'll make sure of that."

"Well," said Hermione tentatively. "You know, I was thinking today. . . ." She shot a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunged on, "I was thinking that — maybe the time's come when we should just — just do it ourselves."

"Do what ourselves?" said Christina suspiciously, still floating her hand in the essence of murtlap tentacles.

"Well — learn Defense Against the Dark Arts ourselves," said Hermione.

"Come off it," groaned Ron. "You want us to do extra work? D'you realize Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week?"

"But this is much more important than homework!" said Hermione. Christina, Harry and Ron goggled at her.

"I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework," said Ron.

"Don't be silly, of course there is!" said Hermione, and Christina saw, with an ominous feeling, that her face was suddenly alight with the kind of fervor that S.P.E.W. usually inspired in her. "It's about preparing ourselves, like Christina and Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year —"

"We can't do much by ourselves," said Ron in a defeated voice. "I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practice them, I suppose —"

"No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books," said Hermione. "We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong."

"If you're talking about Lupin . . ." Harry began.

"No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin," said Hermione. "He's too busy with the Order and anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough."

"Who, then?" said Christina, frowning at her.

Hermione heaved a very deep sigh. "Isn't it obvious?" she said. "I'm talking about you two." she said looking between Christina and Harry. There was a moment's silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron and the fire guttered.

"About me what?" said Harry.

"I'm talking about you teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts." Christina stared at her. Then she turned to Ron, ready to exchange the exasperated looks they sometimes shared when Hermione elaborated on far-fetched schemes like S.P.E.W. To Christina's consternation, however, Ron did not look exasperated. He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, "That's an idea."

"What's an idea?" said Harry.

"You two," said Ron. "Teaching us to do it."

"But . . ." Christina was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling her leg. "But I'm not a teacher, I can't —"

"Christina, you're the best in the year at Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione.

"Me?" said Christina, now grinning more broadly than ever. "No I'm not, you've beaten me in every test —"

"Actually, I haven't," said Hermione coolly. "You beat me in our third year — the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results. Look what both of you have done!"

"How d'you mean?"

"You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me," Ron said to Hermione, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry. "Let's think," he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating.

"Uh . . . first year — you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who."

"But that was luck," said Harry, "that wasn't skill —"

"Second year," Ron interrupted, "you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle."

"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up I —"

"Third year," said Ron, louder still, "you fought off about a hundred dementors at once and Christina you saved Sirius and Buckbeak —"

"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't —"

"Last year, Christina" Ron said, almost shouting now, "you fought off YouKnow-Who and Harry —"

"Listen to me!" said Harry, almost angrily, because Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. "Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck — I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help —" Ron and Hermione were still smirking.

"Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?" he said heatedly. "I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because — because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right — but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing — STOP LAUGHING!" Harry was now on his feet, Crookshanks streaked away under a sofa; Ron and Hermione's smiles had vanished.

"You don't know what it's like! You — neither of you — you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own — your own brain or guts or whatever — like you can think straight when you know you're about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die — they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that — and you two sit there acting like I'm a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up — you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me —"

"Harry -" Christina started, but Ron moved forward.

"We weren't saying anything like that, mate," said Ron, looking aghast. "We weren't having a go at Diggory, we didn't — you've got the wrong end of the —" He looked helplessly at Hermione, whose face was stricken.

"Harry," she said timidly, "don't you see? This . . . this is exactly why we need you. . . . We need to know what it's r-really like . . . facing him . . . facing V-Voldemort." It was the first time she had ever said Voldemort's name. Still breathing hard, Harry sank back into his chair.

"Well . . . think about it," said Hermione quietly. "Please?" Christina could not think of anything to say. She nodded, hardly aware of what she was agreeing to. Hermione stood up. "Well, I'm off to bed," she said in a voice that was clearly as natural as she could make it. Christina followed her upstairs and her restless night was punctuated once more by dreams of long corridors and locked doors, and she awoke next day with her scar prickling again.


	15. Chapter 15: Hog's Head

Hermione made no mention of Christina and Harry giving Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons for two whole weeks after her original suggestion. Christina and Harry's detentions with Umbridge were finally over (she doubted whether the words now etched on the back of her hand would ever fade entirely); Ron had had four more Quidditch practices and not been shouted at during the last two; and all four of them had managed to vanish their mice in Transfiguration (Hermione had actually progressed to vanishing kittens), before the subject was broached again, on a wild, blustery evening at the end of September, when the four of them were sitting in the library, looking up potion ingredients for Snape.

"I was wondering," Hermione said suddenly, "whether you'd two thought any more about Defense Against the Dark Arts."

" 'Course I have," said Harry grumpily. "Can't forget it, can we, with that hag teaching us —"

"I meant the idea Ron and I had" — Ron cast her an alarmed, threatening kind of look; she frowned at him — "oh, all right, the idea I had, then — about you teaching us." Christina did not answer at once. She pretended to be perusing a page of Asiatic Anti-Venoms, because she did not want to say what was in her mind. The fact was that she had given the matter a great deal of thought over the past fortnight. Sometimes it seemed an insane idea, just as it had on the night Hermione had proposed it, but at others, she had found herself thinking about the spells that had served her best in her various encounters with Dark creatures and Death Eaters — found herself, in fact, subconsciously planning lessons. . . .

"Well," she said slowly, when she could not pretend to find Asiatic anti-venoms interesting much longer, "yeah, I — I've thought about it a bit."

"Harry?" said Hermione eagerly.

"I dunno," said Harry, looking up at Ron.

"I thought it was a good idea from the start," said Ron, who seemed keener to join in this conversation now that he was sure that Harry was not going to start shouting again. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?"

"Yes, Harry," said Hermione gently, "but all the same, Christina, there's no point pretending that you're not good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, because you are. You were the only person last year who wasn't affected by the Imerius curse and Harry you learned to throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you both can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't, Viktor always said —" Ron looked around at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck; rubbing it, he said, "Yeah? What did Vicky say?"

"Ho ho," said Hermione in a bored voice. "He said Christina and Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in the final year at Durmstrang." Ron was looking at Hermione suspiciously.

"You're not still in contact with him, are you?"

"So what if I am?" said Hermione coolly, though her face was a little pink. "I can have a pen pal if I —"

"He didn't only want to be your pen pal," said Ron accusingly. Hermione shook her head exasperatedly and, ignoring Ron, who was continuing to watch her, said to Christina and Harry, "Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?"

"Just you and Ron, yeah?" asked Christina.

"Well," said Hermione, now looking a mite anxious again. "Well . . . now, don't fly off the handle again, Harry, please. . . . But I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort — oh, don't be pathetic, Ron — it doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people." Christina considered this for a moment, then said, "Yeah, but I doubt anyone except you two would want to be taught by me. I'm a nutter, remember?"

"Well, I think you might be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what you've got to say," said Hermione seriously. "Look," she leaned toward Christina and Harry; Ron, who was still watching her with a frown on his face, leaned forward to listen too, "you know the first weekend in October's a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who's interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?"

"Why do we have to do it outside school?" said Ron.

"Because," said Hermione, returning to the diagram of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage she was copying, "I don't think Umbridge would be very happy if she found out what we were up to." Christina had been looking forward to the weekend trip into Hogsmeade, but there was one thing worrying her. Sirius had maintained a stony silence since he had appeared in the fire at the beginning of September; Christina knew Harry had made him angry by saying that he did not want him to come — but she still wondered from time to time that Sirius might throw caution to the winds and turn up anyway. What were they going to do if the great black dog came bounding up the street toward them in Hogsmeade, perhaps under the nose of Draco Malfoy?

"Well, you can't blame him for wanting to get out and about," said Ron, when Christina discussed her fears with Harry, Ron and Hermione. "I mean, he's been on the run for over two years, hasn't he, and I know that can't have been a laugh, but at least he was free, wasn't he? And now he's just shut up all the time with that lunatic elf." Hermione scowled at Ron, but otherwise ignored the slight on Kreacher.

"The trouble is," she said to Harry, "until V-Voldemort — oh for heaven's sake, Ron — comes out into the open, Sirius is going to have to stay hidden, isn't he? I mean, the stupid Ministry isn't going to realize Sirius is innocent until they accept that Dumbledore's been telling the truth about him all along. And once the fools start catching real Death Eaters again it'll be obvious Sirius isn't one . . . I mean, he hasn't got the Mark, for one thing."

"I don't reckon he'd be stupid enough to turn up," said Ron bracingly. "Dumbledore'd go mad if he did and Sirius listens to Dumbledore even if he doesn't like what he hears." When Harry continued to look worried, Hermione said, "Listen, Ron and I have been sounding out people who we thought might want to learn some proper Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there are a couple who seem interested. We've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade."

"Right," said Harry vaguely.

"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "You've got enough on your plate without Sirius too." She was quite right, of course; he was barely keeping up with his homework, though he was doing much better now that he was no longer spending every evening in detention with Umbridge. Christina had some assignments that were still either undone or just complete rubbish, however, Ron was even further behind with his work than Harry, because while they both had Quidditch practices twice a week, Ron also had prefect duties. However, Hermione, who was taking more subjects than either of them, had not only finished all her homework but was also finding time to knit more elf clothes. Harry had to admit that she was getting better; it was now almost always possible to distinguish between the hats and the socks.

The morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawned bright but windy. After breakfast they queued up in front of Filch, who matched their names to the long list of students who had permission from their parents or guardian to visit the village. Christina watched as when Harry reached Filch, the caretaker gave a great sniff as though trying to detect a whiff of something from Harry. Then he gave a curt nod that set his jowls aquiver again and Harry walked on, out onto the stone steps and the cold, sunlit day.

"Er — why was Filch sniffing you?" asked Ron, as he, Christina, Harry, and Hermione set off at a brisk pace down the wide drive to the gates.

"I suppose he was checking for the smell of Dungbombs," said Harry with a small laugh. "I forgot to tell you . . ." And he recounted the story of sending his letter to Sirius and Filch bursting in seconds later, demanding to see the letter. To his slight surprise, Hermione found this story highly interesting, much more, indeed, than he did himself.

"He said he was tipped off you were ordering Dungbombs? But who had tipped him off?"

"I dunno," said Harry, shrugging. "Maybe Malfoy, he'd think it was a laugh." They walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars and turned left onto the road into the village, the wind whipping their hair into their eyes.

"Malfoy?" said Hermione, very skeptically. "Well . . . yes . . . maybe . . ." And she remained deep in thought all the way into the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

"Where are we going anyway?" Christina asked. "The Three Broomsticks?"

"Oh — no," said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, "no, it's always packed and really noisy. I've told the others to meet us in the Hog's Head, that other pub, you know the one, it's not on the main road. I think it's a bit . . . you know . . . dodgy . . . but students don't normally go in there, so I don't think we'll be overheard." They walked down the main street past Zonko's Joke Shop, where they were unsurprised to see Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, past the post office, from which owls issued at regular intervals, and turned up a side street at the top of which stood a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture upon it of a wild boar's severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as they approached. All four of them hesitated outside the door.

"Well, come on," said Hermione slightly nervously. Harry led the way inside. It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head bar comprised one small, dingy, and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be earthy, though as Christina stepped onto it she realized that there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries. There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty gray bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth. Two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows; Christina might have thought them dementors if they had not been talking in strong Yorkshire accents; in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude slightly.

"I don't know about this, Hermione," Harry muttered, as they crossed to the bar. He was looking particularly at the heavily veiled witch. "Has it occurred to you Umbridge might be under that?" Hermione cast an appraising eye at the veiled figure.

"Umbridge is shorter than that woman," she said quietly. "And anyway, even if Umbridge does come in here there's nothing she can do to stop us, Harry, because I've double- and triple-checked the school rules. We're not out-of-bounds; I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students were allowed to come in the Hog's Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I've looked up everything I can think of about study groups and homework groups and they're definitely allowed. I just don't think it's a good idea if we parade what we're doing."

"No," said Harry dryly, "especially as it's not exactly a homework group you're planning, is it?" The barman sidled toward them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long gray hair and beard. He was tall and thin.

"What?" he grunted. "Four butterbeers, please," said Hermione. The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up four very dusty, very dirty bottles, which he slammed on the bar.

"Six Sickles," he said.

"I'll get them," said Christina quickly, passing over the silver. The barman's eyes traveled over Christina, resting for a fraction of a second on her hand. Then he turned away and deposited Christina's money in an ancient wooden till whose drawer slid open automatically to receive it. Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione retreated to the farthest table from the bar and sat down, looking around, while the man in the dirty gray bandages rapped the counter with his knuckles and received another smoking drink from the barman.

"You know what?" Ron murmured, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. "We could order anything we liked in here, I bet that bloke would sell us anything, he wouldn't care. I've always wanted to try firewhisky —"

"You — are — a — prefect," snarled Hermione.

"Oh," said Ron, the smile fading from his face. "Yeah . . ."

"So who did you say is supposed to be meeting us? Did Fred or George agree to coming?" Christina asked, forgetting completely to mention this whole scheme to Fred. They talked everyday, from walking around at night to random encounters around the castle, and yet this managed to slip by.

"Yeah along with just a couple of other people," Hermione repeated, checking her watch and then looking anxiously toward the door. "I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is — oh look, this might be them now —" The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people. First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with Cho Chang and one of her usually giggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy that she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Justin FinchFletchley, Hannah Abbott, and a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back whose name Christina did not know; three Ravenclaw boys she was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot; Ginny, followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose whom Christina recognized vaguely as being a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and bringing up the rear, Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise.

"A couple of people?" said Christina hoarsely to Hermione. "A couple of people?"

"Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular," said Hermione happily. "Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?" The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly he had never seen his pub so full.

"Hi," said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly. "Could we have . . . twenty-five butterbeers, please?" The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty butterbeers from under the bar.

"Cheers," said Fred, handing them out. "Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these. . . ." Christina watched numbly as the large chattering group took their beers from Fred and rummaged in their robes to find coins. She could not imagine what all these people had turned up for until the horrible thought occurred to her that they might be expecting some kind of speech, at which she rounded on Hermione.

"What have you been telling people?" she said in a low voice. "What are they expecting?"

"I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say," said Hermione soothingly; but Christina continued to look at her so furiously that she added quickly, "You don't have to do anything yet, I'll speak to them first."

"Hi, Christina," said Neville, beaming and taking a seat opposite Christina. Christina tried to smile back, but did not speak; her mouth was exceptionally dry. Christina turned to Harry who was staring nervously at Cho Chang and her friend. In twos and threes the new arrivals settled around Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, some looking rather excited, others curious, Luna Lovegood gazing dreamily into space. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Christina and Harry.

"Er," said Hermione, her voice slightly higher than usual out of nerves. "Well — er — hi." The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart back regularly to Christina and Harry.

"Well . . . erm . . . well, you know why you're here. Erm . . . well, Harry here had the idea — I mean" — Harry had thrown her a sharp look — "I had the idea — that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts — and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us" — (Hermione's voice became suddenly much stronger and more confident) — "because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts" —

"Hear, hear," said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked heartened — "well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands." She paused, looked sideways at Christina, and went on, "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells —"

"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?" said Michael Corner.

"Of course I do," said Hermione at once. "But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because . . . because . . ." She took a great breath and finished, "Because Lord Voldemort's back." The reaction was immediate and predictable. Cho's friend shrieked and slopped butterbeer down herself, Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch, Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Christina and Harry.

"Well . . . that's the plan anyway," said Hermione. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to —"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said the blond Hufflepuff player in a rather aggressive voice.

"Well, Dumbledore believes it —" Hermione began.

"You mean, Dumbledore believes them," said the blond boy, nodding at Christina and Harry.

"Who are you?" said Ron rather rudely.

"Zacharias Smith," said the boy, "and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes them say You-Know-Who's back."

"Look," said Hermione, intervening swiftly, "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about —"

"It's okay, Hermione," said Christina. It had just dawned upon her why there were so many people there. She felt that Hermione should have seen this coming. Some of these people — maybe even most of them — had turned up in the hope of hearing Christina and Harry's story firsthand.

"What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?" she asked, looking Zacharias straight in the face. She paused, looked back at Fred who was smiling and then he nodded to her. She continued, "I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you don't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone." The whole group seemed to have held its breath while Christina spoke. Christina had the impression that even the barman was listening in. He was wiping the same glass with the filthy rag; it was becoming steadily dirtier. Zacharias said dismissively, "All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know —"

"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone we can't help you," Harry said. "I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out." He cast an angry look in Hermione's direction. This was, Christina felt, all her fault; she had decided to display them like some sort of freak and of course they had all turned up to see just how wild their story was. . . . But none of them left their seats, not even Zacharias Smith, though he continued to gaze intently at Christina.

"So," said Hermione, her voice very high-pitched again. "So . . . like I was saying . . . if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet, and where we're going to —"

"Is it true," interrupted the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at Christina and Harry, "that you can produce a Patronus?" There was a murmur of interest around the group at this.

"Yeah," said Harry slightly defensively.

"A corporeal Patronus?" The phrase stirred something in Christina's memory. "Er — you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" she asked. The girl smiled.

"She's my auntie," she said. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So — is it really true? You make a fox Patronus and Harry a stag?"

"Yes," said Christina.

"Blimey, Christina!" said Lee, looking deeply impressed. "I never knew that!"

"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred, grinning at Christina. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

"She's not wrong," mumbled Christina and a couple of people laughed. The veiled witch sitting alone shifted very slightly in her seat.

"And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" demanded Terry Boot. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year. . . ."

"Er — yeah, I did, yeah," said Harry. Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled, the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks, and Lavender Brown said "wow" softly.

"And in our first year," said Neville to the group at large, "he saved that Sorcerous Stone —"

"Sorcerer's," hissed Hermione.

"Yes, that, from You-Know-Who," finished Neville. Hannah Abbott's eyes were as round as Galleons.

"And that's not to mention," said Cho "all the tasks they had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year — getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things. . . ." There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table. Christina's insides were squirming. She was trying to arrange her face so that she did not look too pleased with herself.

"Look," he said and everyone fell silent at once, "I . . . I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but . . . I had a lot of help with all that stuff. . . ."

"Not with the dragon, you didn't," said Michael Corner at once. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying. . . ."

"Yeah, well —" said Harry.

"And you performed some of the best magic I've seen at Hogwarts during the first task, Christina!" said Susan Bones.

"Wow" said Christina, "that's really nice of you, I think Harry is trying to say -"

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" said Zacharias Smith.

"Here's an idea," said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, "why don't you shut your mouth?" Perhaps the word "weasel" had affected Ron particularly strongly; in any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed.

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from them, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," he said.

"That's not what he said," snarled Fred Weasley.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags.

"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this," said Fred, Christina beamed up at him.

"Yes, well," said Hermione hastily, "moving on . . . the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry and Christina?" There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in George's hand.

"Right," said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. "Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week —"

"Hang on," said Angelina, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

"No," said Cho, "nor with ours."

"Nor ours," added Zacharias Smith.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," said Hermione, slightly impatiently, "but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters —"

"Well said!" barked Ernie Macmillan, whom Christina had been expecting to speak long before this. "Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!" He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry, "Surely not!" When nobody spoke, he went on, "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells —"

"We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, "is that she's got some . . . some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry." Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army."

"What?" said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information.

"Yes, he's got an army of heliopaths," said Luna solemnly.

"No, he hasn't," snapped Hermione.

"Yes, he has," said Luna.

"What are heliopaths?" asked Neville, looking blank.

"They're spirits of fire," said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever. "Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of —"

"They don't exist, Neville," said Hermione tartly.

"Oh yes they do!" said Luna angrily.

"I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?" snapped Hermione. "There are plenty of eyewitness accounts, just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you —"

"Hem, hem," said Christina in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. "Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and get Defense lessons?"

"Yes," said Hermione at once, "yes, we were, you're right. . . ."

"Well, once a week sounds cool," said Lee Jordan.

"As long as —" began Angelina.

"Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch," said Hermione in a tense voice. "Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet. . . ." This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent.

"Library?" suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.

"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," said Harry.

"Maybe an unused classroom?" said Dean.

"Yeah," said Ron, "McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry and Christina were practicing for the Triwizard. . . ." But Christina was pretty certain that McGonagall would not be so accommodating this time. For all that Hermione had said about study and homework groups being allowed, she had the distinct feeling this one might be considered a lot more rebellious. Christina looked up at Fred who she could see was sharing the same thought. Give up their secret room?

"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," said Hermione. "We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting." She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something.

"I-I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think," she took a deep breath, "that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge — or anybody else — what we're up to." Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully put down his signature, but Christina noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.

"Er . . ." said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass him. "Well . . . I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is." But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

"I — well, we are prefects," Ernie burst out. "And if this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out . . ."

"You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year," Harry reminded him.

"I — yes," said Ernie, "yes, I do believe that, it's just . . ."

"Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?" said Hermione testily.

"No. No, of course not," said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. "I — yes, of course I'll sign." Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though Christina saw Cho's friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her name. When the last person — Zacharias — had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract.

"Well, time's ticking on," said George briskly, getting to his feet. "Fred, Lee, and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later." Christina waved to them goodbye and they were gone. In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave too. Cho made rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark curtain of hair swinging forward to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her, arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho had little choice but to leave with her. As her friend ushered her through the door, Cho looked back and waved at Harry.

"Well, I think that went quite well," said Hermione happily, as she, Christina, Harry, and Ron walked out of the Hog's Head into the bright sunlight a few moments later, Harry and Ron still clutching their bottles of butterbeer.

"That Zacharias bloke's a wart," said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith just discernible in the distance.

"I don't like him much either," admitted Hermione, "but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really — I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny —" Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed butterbeer down his front.

"He's WHAT?" said Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. "She's going out with — my sister's going — what d'you mean, Michael Corner?"

"Well, that's why he and his friends came, I think — well, they're obviously interested in learning defense, but if Ginny hadn't told Michael what was going on —"

"When did this — when did she — ?"

"They met at the Yule Ball and they got together at the end of last year," said Hermione composedly. They had turned into the High Street and she paused outside Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where there was a handsome display of pheasant-feather quills in the window.

"Hmm . . . I could do with a new quill." She turned into the shop. Christina, Harry and Ron followed her.

"Which one was Michael Corner?" Ron demanded furiously.

"The dark one," said Hermione.

"I didn't like him," said Ron at once.

"Big surprise," said Hermione under her breath.

"But," said Ron, following Hermione along a row of quills in copper pots, "I thought Ginny fancied Harry!" Hermione looked at him rather pityingly and shook her head. "Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn't like you, of course," she added kindly to Harry while she examined a long black-and-gold quill.

"So that's why she talks now?" he asked Hermione. "She never used to talk in front of me."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Yes, I think I'll have this one. . . ." She went up to the counter and handed over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, Ron still breathing down her neck.

"Ron," she said severely as she turned and trod on his feet, "this is exactly why Ginny hasn't told you she's seeing Michael, she knew you'd take it badly. So don't harp on about it, for heaven's sake."

"What d'you mean, who's taking anything badly? I'm not going to harp on about anything . . ." Ron continued to chunter under his breath all the way down the street.


	16. Chapter 16:Mail

Christina felt happier for the rest of the weekend than she had done all term. She and Fred spent much of Sunday catching up with all their homework in, and although this could hardly be called fun, the last burst of autumn sunshine persisted, so rather than sitting hunched over tables in the common room, they took their work outside and lounged in the shade of a large beech tree on the edge of the lake. The knowledge that they were doing something to resist Umbridge and the Ministry, and that he was a key part of the rebellion, gave Christina a feeling of immense satisfaction. She kept reliving Saturday's meeting in her mind: all those people, coming to her and Harry to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . and the looks on their faces as they had heard some of the things they had done. . . The knowledge that all those people did not think her a lying weirdo, but someone to be admired, buoyed her up so much that she was still cheerful on Monday morning, despite the imminent prospect of all her least favorite classes.

She, Harry and Ron headed downstairs from their dormitory together, discussing Angelina's idea that they were to work on a new move called the Sloth Grip Roll during that night's Quidditch practice, and not until they were halfway across the sunlit common room did they notice the addition to the room that had already attracted the attention of a small group of people. A large sign had been affixed to the Gryffindor notice board, so large that it covered everything else on there — the lists of secondhand spellbooks for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus Filch, the Quidditch team training schedule, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog cards for others, the Weasleys' new advertisement for testers, the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends, and the lost-and-found notices. The new sign was printed in large black letters and there was a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature.

 **— by order of —**

 **The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts**

 **All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded. An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled. The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four.**

 **Signed:**

 _Dolores Jane Umbridge_

 **HIGH INQUISITOR**

Christina, Harry and Ron read the notice over the heads of some anxious looking second years.

"Does this mean they're going to shut down the Gobstones Club?" one of them asked his friend.

"I reckon you'll be okay with Gobstones," Ron said darkly, making the second year jump. "I don't think we're going to be as lucky, though, do you?" he asked Christina and Harry as the second years hurried away. Christina was reading the notice through again. The happiness that had filled her since Saturday was gone. Her insides were pulsing with rage.

"This isn't a coincidence," Harry said, his hands forming fists. "She knows."

"She can't," said Ron at once.

"There were people listening in that pub. And let's face it, we don't know how many of the people who turned up we can trust. . . . Any of them could have run off and told Umbridge. . . ."

"Zacharias Smith!" said Ron at once, punching a fist into his hand. "Or — I thought that Michael Corner had a really shifty look too —"

"I wonder if Hermione's seen this yet?" Christina said, looking around at the door to the girls' dormitories.

"Let's go and tell her," said Ron. They bounded forward, pulled open the door, and set off up the spiral staircase, but Christina stayed at the bottom. From watched Fred try to get into the girls dormitory to see her she knew where the boys were heading. They were on the sixth stair when it happened. There was a loud, wailing, klaxon-like sound and the steps melted together to make a long, smooth stone slide. There was a brief moment when Ron tried to keep running, arms working madly like windmills, then he toppled over backward and shot down the newly created slide, coming to rest on his back at Harry's feet.

"Er — I don't think we're allowed in the girls' dormitories," said Harry, pulling Ron to his feet and trying not to laugh. Two fourth-year girls came zooming gleefully down the stone slide.

"Oooh, who tried to get upstairs?" they giggled happily, leaping to their feet and ogling Harry and Ron.

"Me," said Ron, who was still rather disheveled.

"I didn't realize that would happen. It's not fair!" he added to Harry, as the girls headed off for the portrait hole, still giggling madly. "Hermione's allowed in our dormitory, how come we're not allowed — ?"

"Well, it's an old-fashioned rule," said Hermione, who had just slid neatly onto a rug in front of them and was now getting to her feet, "but it says in Hogwarts, A History that the founders thought boys were less trustworthy than girls. Anyway, why were you trying to get in there?"

"To see you — look at this!" said Ron, dragging her over to the notice board. Hermione's eyes slid rapidly down the notice. Her expression became stony. "Someone must have blabbed to her!" Ron said angrily.

"They can't have done," said Hermione in a low voice. "You're so naive," said Ron, "you think just because you're all honorable and trustworthy —"

"No, they can't have done because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed," said Hermione grimly. "Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it."

"What'll happen to them?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well, put it this way," said Hermione, "it'll make Eloise Midgen's acne look like a couple of cute freckles. Come on, let's get down to breakfast and see what the others think. . . . I wonder whether this has been put up in all the Houses?" It was immediately apparent on entering the Great Hall that Umbridge's sign had not only appeared in Gryffindor Tower. There was a peculiar intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the Hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read. Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had barely taken their seats when Neville, Dean, Fred, George, and Ginny descended upon them.

"Did you see it?"

"D'you reckon she knows?"

"What are we going to do?" They were all looking at Christina and Harry. She glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them.

"We're going to do it anyway, of course," she said quietly.

"Knew you'd say that," said Fred, beaming and kissing Christina on the mouth.

"The prefects as well?" said George, looking quizzically at Ron and Hermione.

"Of course," said Hermione coolly.

"Here comes Ernie and Hannah Abbott," said Ron, looking over his shoulder. "And those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith . . . and no one looks very spotty." Hermione looked alarmed. "Never mind spots, the idiots can't come over here now, it'll look really suspicious — sit down!" she mouthed to Ernie and Hannah, gesturing frantically to them to rejoin the Hufflepuff table. "Later! We'll — talk — to — you — later!"

"I'll tell Michael," said Ginny impatiently, swinging herself off her bench. "The fool, honestly . . ." She hurried off toward the Ravenclaw table; Christina watched her go. The full repercussions of the sign were not felt until they were leaving the Great Hall for History of Magic.

"Harry! Christina! Ron!" It was Angelina and she was hurrying toward them looking perfectly desperate.

"It's okay," said Harry quietly, when she was near enough to hear him. "We're still going to —"

"You realize she's including Quidditch in this?" Angelina said over him. "We have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!"

"What?" said Christina.

"No way," said Ron, appalled. "You read the sign, it mentions teams too! So listen, Christina, Harry . . . I am saying this for the last time. . . . Please, please don't lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play anymore!"

"Okay, okay," said Harry, for Angelina looked as though she was on the verge of tears. "Don't worry, I'll behave myself. . . ." Christina added.

"Bet Umbridge is in History of Magic," said Ron grimly, as they set off for Binns's lesson. "She hasn't inspected Binns yet. . . . Bet you anything she's there. . . ." But he was wrong; the only teacher present when they entered was Professor Binns, floating an inch or so above his chair as usual and preparing to continue his monotonous drone on giant wars. Christina did not even attempt to follow what he was saying today; she doodled idly on her parchment when she noticed Harry and Hermione pointed to Harry's owl Hedwig who was sitting outside on the window sill. Many of her classmates were pointing out Hedwig to each other too.

"Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful," Christina heard Lavender sigh to Parvati. She glanced around at Professor Binns who continued to read his notes, serenely unaware that the class's attention was even less focused upon him than usual. Harry slipped quietly off his chair, crouched down, and hurried along the row to the window, where he slid the catch and opened it very slowly. The moment the window was open wide enough she hopped inside, hooting dolefully. He closed the window with an anxious glance at Professor Binns, crouched low again, and sped back to his seat with Hedwig on his shoulder. He regained his seat, transferred Hedwig to his lap, and made to remove the letter tied to her leg. Christina looked over at Hedwig and realized that Hedwig's feathers were oddly ruffled; some were bent the wrong way, and she was holding one of her wings at an odd angle.

"She's hurt!" Harry whispered, bending his head low over her. Christina, Hermione and Ron leaned in closer; Hermione even put down her quill."Look — there's something wrong with her wing —" Hedwig was quivering; when Harry made to touch the wing she gave a little jump, all her feathers on end as though she was inflating herself, and gazed at him reproachfully.

"Professor Binns," said Harry loudly, and everyone in the class turned to look at him. "I'm not feeling well." Professor Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people.

"Not feeling well?" he repeated hazily.

"Not at all well," said Harry firmly, getting to his feet while concealing Hedwig behind his back. "So I think I'll need to go to the hospital wing."

"Yes," said Professor Binns, clearly very much wrong-footed. "Yes . . . yes, hospital wing . . . well, off you go, then, Perkins . . ." Christina gave Hermione and Ron a look of anxiety, "What if Hedwig was intercepted?" Hermione and Ron didn't say anything, they just looked down. Christina then had nothing to do but wait, tapping her foot impatiently until finally the bell rang. The three of them rushed out of the class and sped walked through the castle until finally they spotted Harry in the courtyard.

"Is Hedwig okay?" asked Hermione anxiously, the moment he was within earshot.

"Where did you take her?" asked Ron.

"To Grubbly-Plank," said Harry. "And I met McGonagall. . . . Listen. . . ." And he told them what Professor McGonagall had said, to watch the communication channels, that they were unsafe. Christina, Hermione, and Ron exchanged significant looks.

"What?" said Harry, looking from Ron to Christina to Hermione and back again.

"Well, I was just saying to Hermione and Ron . . . what if someone had tried to intercept Hedwig? I mean, she's never been hurt on a flight before, has she?" asked Christina.

"Who's the letter from anyway?" asked Ron, taking the note from Harry.

"Snuffles," said Harry quietly.

" 'Same time, same place'? Does he mean the fire in the common room?"

"Obviously," said Hermione, also reading the note. She looked uneasy. "I just hope nobody else has read this. . . ."

"But it was still sealed and everything," said Harry, trying to sound convincing. "And nobody would understand what it meant if they didn't know where we'd spoken to him before, would they?"

"I don't know," said Hermione anxiously, hitching her bag back over her shoulder as the bell rang again. "It wouldn't be exactly difficult to reseal the scroll by magic. . . . And if anyone's watching the Floo Network . . . but I don't really see how we can warn him not to come without that being intercepted too!" They trudged down the stone steps to the dungeons for Potions, all four of them lost in thought, but as they reached the bottom of the stairs they were recalled to themselves by the voice of Draco Malfoy, who was standing just outside Snape's classroom door, waving around an official-looking piece of parchment and talking much louder than was necessary so that they could hear every word.

"Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry. . . . It'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, wont it?"

"Don't rise," Hermione whispered imploringly to Christina, Harry and Ron, who were both watching Malfoy, faces set and fists clenched. "It's what he wants. . . ."

"I mean," said Malfoy, raising his voice a little more, his gray eyes glittering malevolently in Christina, Harry and Ron's direction, "if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance. . . . From what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years. . . . And as for Potter and Bataskill . . . My father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has them carted off to St. Mungo's. . . . apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic. . . ." Malfoy made a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling. Crabbe and Goyle gave their usual grunts of laughter, Pansy Parkinson shrieked with glee. A split second later Harry collapsed and she looked over to see that Neville had just charged past him, heading straight for Malfoy.

"Neville, no!" Harry leapt forward and seized the back of Neville's robes; Neville struggled frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get at Malfoy who looked, for a moment, extremely shocked.

"Help me!"

Christina flung at Ron, managing to get an arm around Neville's neck and dragging him backward, away from the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle were now flexing their arms, closing in front of Malfoy, ready for the fight. Ron hurried forward and seized Neville's arms; together, she, Ron and Harry succeeded in dragging Neville back into the Gryffindor line. Neville's face was scarlet; the pressure Christina was exerting on his throat rendered him quite incomprehensible, but odd words spluttered from his mouth.

"Not. . . funny . . . don't . . . Mungo's . . . show . . . him . . ." The dungeon door opened. Snape appeared there. His black eyes swept up the Gryffindor line to the point where Christina, Harry and Ron were wrestling with Neville.

"Fighting, Potter, Bataskill, Weasley, Longbottom?" Snape said in his cold, sneering voice. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Bataskill, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you." Christina let go of Neville, who stood panting and glaring at her.

"I had to stop you," Christina gasped, picking up her bag. "Crabbe and Goyle would've torn you apart." Neville said nothing, he merely snatched up his own bag and stalked off into the dungeon.

"What in the name of Merlin," said Ron slowly, as they followed Neville, "was that about?" Christina did not answer. She knew exactly why the subject of people who were in St. Mungo's because of magical damage to their brains was highly distressing to Neville, but she and Harry had sworn to Dumbledore that they would not tell anyone Neville's secret. Even Neville did not know that Christina and Harry knew. Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their usual seats at the back of the class and pulled out parchment, quills, and their copies of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. The class around them was whispering about what Neville had just done, but when Snape closed the dungeon door with an echoing bang everybody fell silent immediately.

"You will notice," said Snape in his low, sneering voice, "that we have a guest with us today." He gestured toward the dim corner of the dungeon, and Christina saw Professor Umbridge sitting there, clipboard on her knee. She glanced sideways at Harry, Ron and Hermione, her eyebrows raised. Snape and Umbridge, the two teachers she hated most . . . it was hard to decide which she wanted to triumph over the other.

"We are continuing with our Strengthening Solutions today, you will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson, if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend — instructions" — he waved his wand again — "on the board. Carry on." Professor Umbridge spent the first half hour of the lesson making notes in her corner. Christina was very interested in hearing her question Snape.

"Salamander blood, Harry!" Hermione moaned, grabbing his wrist to prevent him adding the wrong ingredient for the third time, Harry was much more distracted than she was. "Not pomegranate juice!"

"Right," said Harry vaguely, putting down the bottle and continuing to watch the corner of Umbridge. Umbridge had just gotten to her feet.

"Ha," she said softly, as Umbridge strode between two lines of desks toward Snape, who was bending over Dean Thomas's cauldron. "Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level," she said briskly to Snape's back. "Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus." Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her. "Now . . . how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard.

"Fourteen years," Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable. Her eyes on Snape, Christina added a few drops to her potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange.

"You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Professor Umbridge asked Snape.

"Yes," said Snape quietly.

"But you were unsuccessful?" Snape's lip curled.

"Obviously." Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard.

"And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

"Yes," said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge.

"I suggest you ask him," said Snape jerkily.

"Oh I shall," said Professor Umbridge with a sweet smile.

"I suppose this is relevant?" Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed.

"Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge. "Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' — er — backgrounds. . . ." She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson and began questioning her about the lessons.

"No marks again, then, Potter," said Snape maliciously, Christina looked over to Harry's cauldron which was fuming a foul odor. Snape emptied Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. "You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?"

"Yes," said Harry furiously. Snape retreated back to his desk and after receiving more homework they headed out of the dungeon for lunch.

"Maybe I'll skive off Divination," Harry said glumly, sharing his homework concerns with Christina, Ron and Hermione. They stood again in the courtyard after lunch, the wind whipping at the hems of robes and brims of hats. "I'll pretend to be ill and do Snape's essay instead, then I won't have to stay up half the night. . . ."

"You can't skive off Divination," said Hermione severely.

"Hark who's talking, you walked out of Divination, you hate Trelawney!" said Christina indignantly.

"I don't hate her," said Hermione loftily. "I just think she's an absolutely appalling teacher and a real old fraud. . . . But Harry's already missed History of Magic and I don't think he ought to miss anything else today!" There was too much truth in this to ignore, so half an hour later Harry took his seat in the hot, over-perfumed atmosphere of the Divination classroom with Christina and Ron. Professor Trelawney was handing out copies of The Dream Oracle yet again. Professor Trelawney slammed a copy of the Oracle down on the table between Harry and Ron and swept away, her lips pursed; she threw the next copy of the Oracle at Christina and Neville, narrowly avoiding Christina's head, and thrust the final one into Neville's chest with such force that he slipped off his pouf.

"Well, carry on!" said Professor Trelawney loudly, her voice high pitched and somewhat hysterical. "You know what to do! Or am I such a substandard teacher that you have never learned how to open a book?" The class stared perplexedly at her and then at each other. Christina, however, thought she knew what was the matter. As Professor Trelawney flounced back to the high-backed teacher's chair, her magnified eyes full of angry tears, she leaned her head closer to Harry and Ron's table and muttered, "I think she's got the results of her inspection back."

"Professor?" said Parvati Patil in a hushed voice (she and Lavender had always rather admired Professor Trelawney). "Professor, is there anything — er — wrong?"

"Wrong!" cried Professor Trelawney in a voice throbbing with emotion. "Certainly not! I have been insulted, certainly. . . . Insinuations have been made against me. . . . Unfounded accusations leveled . . . but no, there is nothing wrong, certainly not. . . ." She took a great shuddering breath and looked away from Parvati, angry tears spilling from under her glasses. "I say nothing," she choked, "of sixteen years' devoted service. . . . It has passed, apparently, unnoticed. . . . But I shall not be insulted, no, I shall not!"

"But Professor, who's insulting you?" asked Parvati timidly.

"The establishment!" said Professor Trelawney in a deep, dramatic, wavering voice. "Yes, those with eyes too clouded by the Mundane to See as I See, to Know as I Know . . . Of course, we Seers have always been feared, always persecuted. . . . It is — alas — our fate. . . ." She gulped, dabbed at her wet cheeks with the end of her shawl, and then pulled a small, embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve, into which she blew her nose very hard with a sound like Peeves blowing a raspberry. Ron sniggered. Lavender shot him a disgusted look.

"Professor," said Parvati, "do you mean . . . is it something Professor Umbridge . . . ?"

"Do not speak to me about that woman!" cried Professor Trelawney, leaping to her feet, her beads rattling and her spectacles flashing. "Kindly continue with your work!" And she spent the rest of the lesson striding among them, tears still leaking from behind her glasses, muttering what sounded like threats under her breath. ". . . may well choose to leave . . . the indignity of it . . . on probation . . . we shall see . . . how she dares . . ."

"You and Umbridge have got something in common," Harry told Hermione quietly when they met again in Defense Against the Dark Arts. "She obviously reckons Trelawney's an old fraud too. . . . Looks like she's put her on probation." Umbridge entered the room as he spoke, wearing her black velvet bow and an expression of great smugness.

"Good afternoon, class."

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted drearily.

"Wands away, please . . ." But there was no answering flurry of movement this time; nobody had bothered to take out their wands. "Please turn to page thirty-four of Defensive Magical Theory and read the third chapter, entitled 'The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack.' There will be —"

"— no need to talk," Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione said together under their breaths.

"No Quidditch practice," said Angelina in hollow tones when Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the common room that night after dinner.

"But I kept my temper!" said Christina, horrified. "I didn't say anything to her, Angelina, I swear, I —"

"I know, I know," said Angelina miserably. "She just said she needed a bit of time to consider."

"Consider what?" said Harry angrily. "She's given the Slytherins permission, why not us?" But Christina could imagine how much Umbridge was enjoying holding the threat of no Gryffindor Quidditch team over their heads and could easily understand why she would not want to relinquish that weapon over them too soon.

"Well," said Hermione, "look on the bright side — at least now you'll have time to do Snape's essay!"

"That's a bright side, is it?" snapped Harry, while Christina and Ron stared incredulously at Hermione.

"No Quidditch practice and extra Potions?" Harry slumped down into a chair, dragged his Potions essay reluctantly from his bag, and set to work.

There was also an incredible amount of noise in the room: Fred and George appeared finally to have perfected one type of Skiving Snackbox, which they were taking turns to demonstrate to a cheering and whooping crowd. First, Fred would take a bite out of the orange end of a chew, at which he would vomit spectacularly into a bucket they had placed in front of them. Then he would force down the purple end of the chew, at which the vomiting would immediately cease. Lee Jordan, who was assisting the demonstration, was lazily vanishing the vomit at regular intervals with the same Vanishing Spell Snape kept using on Harry's potions. What with the regular sounds of retching, cheering, and Fred and George taking advance orders from the crowd, Christina was finding it exceptionally difficult to focus on her own homework for the evening. Hermione was not helping matters; the cheers and sound of vomit hitting the bottom of Fred and George's bucket were punctuated by loud and disapproving sniffs that Christina found, if anything, more distracting.

"Just go and stop them, then!" Harry said irritably.

"I can't, they're not technically doing anything wrong," said Hermione through gritted teeth. "They're quite within their rights to eat the foul things themselves, and I can't find a rule that says the other idiots aren't entitled to buy them, not unless they're proven to be dangerous in some way, and it doesn't look as though they are. . . ." She, Christina, Harry, and Ron watched George projectile-vomit into the bucket, gulp down the rest of the chew, and straighten up, beaming with his arms wide to protracted applause.

"You know, I don't get why Fred and George only got three O.W.L.s each," said Christina, watching as Fred, George, and Lee collected gold from the eager crowd. "They really know their stuff. . . ."

"Oh, they only know flashy stuff that's no real use to anyone," said Hermione disparagingly.

"No real use?" said Ron in a strained voice. "Hermione, they've got about twenty-six Galleons already. . . ." It was a long while before the crowd around the Weasleys dispersed, and then Fred, Lee, and George sat up counting their takings even longer, so that it was well past midnight when Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione finally had the common room to themselves again. At long last, Fred closed the doorway to the boys' dormitories behind him, rattling his box of Galleons ostentatiously so that Hermione scowled. Christina finished her last fake dream journal post and as she put her books away, Ron, who was dozing lightly in an armchair, gave a muffled grunt, awoke, looked blearily into the fire and said, "Sirius!" Christina whipped around; Sirius's untidy dark head was sitting in the fire again.

"Hi," he said, grinning.

"Hi," chorused Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all four kneeling down upon the hearthrug. Crookshanks purred loudly and approached the fire, trying, despite the heat, to put his face close to Sirius's.

"How're things?" said Sirius.

"Not that good," said Harry, as Hermione pulled Crookshanks back to stop him singeing his whiskers. "The Ministry's forced through another decree, which means we're not allowed to have Quidditch teams —"

"— or secret Defense Against the Dark Arts groups?" said Sirius. There was a short pause.

"How did you know about that?" Christina demanded.

"You want to choose your meeting places more carefully," said Sirius, grinning still more broadly. "The Hog's Head, I ask you . . ."

"Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks!" said Hermione defensively. "That's always packed with people —"

"— which means you'd have been harder to overhear," said Sirius. "You've got a lot to learn, Hermione."

"Who overheard us?" Harry demanded.

"Mundungus, of course," said Sirius, and when they all looked puzzled he laughed. "He was the witch under the veil."

"That was Mundungus?" Harry said, stunned. "What was he doing in the Hog's Head?"

"What do you think he was doing?" said Sirius impatiently. "Keeping an eye on you, of course."

"I'm still being followed?" asked Harry angrily.

"Yeah, you are," said Sirius, "and just as well, isn't it, if the first thing you're going to do on your weekend off is organize an illegal defense group." But he looked neither angry nor worried; on the contrary, he was looking at Harry with distinct pride.

"Why was Dung hiding from us?" asked Ron, sounding disappointed. "We'd've liked to've seen him."

"He was banned from the Hog's Head twenty years ago," said Sirius, "and that barman's got a long memory. We lost Moody's spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung's been dressing as a witch a lot lately. . . . Anyway . . . First of all, Ron — I've sworn to pass on a message from your mother."

"Oh yeah?" said Ron, sounding apprehensive. "She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal secret Defense Against the Dark Arts group. She says you'll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there will be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be worrying about that right now. She also" — Sirius's eyes turned to the other two — "advises Harry, Christina and Hermione not to proceed with the group, though she accepts that she has no authority over either of them and simply begs them to remember that she has their best interests at heart. She would have written all this to you, but if the owl had been intercepted you'd all have been in real trouble, and she can't say it for herself because she's on duty tonight."

"On duty doing what?" said Ron quickly.

"Never you mind, just stuff for the Order," said Sirius. "So it's fallen to me to be the messenger and make sure you tell her I passed it all on, because I don't think she trusts me to." There was another pause in which Crookshanks, mewing, attempted to paw Sirius's head, and Ron fiddled with a hole in the hearthrug.

"So you want me to say I'm not going to take part in the defense group?" he muttered finally.

"Me? Certainly not!" said Sirius, looking surprised. "I think it's an excellent idea!"

"You do?" said Christina, his heart lifting.

"Of course I do!" said Sirius. "D'you think your father and I would've lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?"

"But — last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not take risks —" said Harry.

"Last year all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you, Harry!" said Sirius impatiently. "This year we know that there's someone outside Hogwarts who'd like to kill us all, so I think learning to defend yourselves properly is a very good idea!"

"And if we do get expelled?" Hermione asked, a quizzical look on her face.

"Hermione, this whole thing was your idea!" said Harry, staring at her.

"I know it was. . . . I just wondered what Sirius thought," she said, shrugging.

"Well, better expelled and able to defend yourselves than sitting safely in school without a clue," said Sirius.

"Hear, hear," said Harry and Ron enthusiastically.

"So," said Sirius, "how are you organizing this group? Where are you meeting?"

"Well, that's a bit of a problem now," said Harry. "Dunno where we're going to be able to go. . . ."

"How about the Shrieking Shack?" suggested Sirius.

"Hey, that's an idea!" said Ron excitedly, but Hermione made a skeptical noise and all four of them looked at her, Sirius's head turning in the flames.

"Well, Sirius, it's just that there were only four of you meeting in the Shrieking Shack when you were at school," said Hermione, "and all of you could transform into animals and I suppose you could all have squeezed under a single Invisibility Cloak if you'd wanted to. But there are twenty-eight of us and none of us is an Animagus, so we wouldn't need so much an Invisibility Cloak as an Invisibility Marquee —"

"Fair point," said Sirius, looking slightly crestfallen. "Well, I'm sure you'll come up with somewhere. . . . There used to be a pretty roomy secret passageway behind that big mirror on the fourth floor, you might have enough space to practice jinxes in there —"

"Fred and George told me it's blocked," said Harry, shaking his head. "Caved in or something."

"Oh . . ." said Sirius, frowning. "Well, I'll have a think and get back to —" He broke off. His face was suddenly tense, alarmed. He turned sideways, apparently looking into the solid brick wall of the fireplace.

"Sirius?" said Christina anxiously. But he had vanished. Christina gaped at the flames for a moment, then turned to look at Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Why did he — ?" Hermione gave a horrified gasp and leapt to her feet, still staring at the fire. A hand had appeared amongst the flames, groping as though to catch hold of something; a stubby, short-fingered hand covered in ugly old-fashioned rings. . . . The four of them ran for it; at the door of the dormitories they looked back. Umbridge's hand was still making snatching movements amongst the flames, as though she knew exactly where Sirius's hair had been moments before and was determined to seize it.


	17. Chapter 17: The Room of Requirement

"Umbridge has been reading your mail, Harry. There's no other explanation."

"You think Umbridge attacked Hedwig?" he said, outraged.

"I'm almost certain of it," said Hermione grimly. "Watch your frog, it's escaping." Harry pointed his wand at the bullfrog that had been hopping hopefully toward the other side of the table — "Accio!"— and it zoomed gloomily back into his hand. Charms was always one of the best lessons in which to enjoy a private chat: There was generally so much movement and activity that the danger of being overheard was very slight. Today, with the room full of croaking bullfrogs and cawing ravens, and with a heavy downpour of rain clattering and pounding against the classroom windows, Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione's whispered discussion about how Umbridge had nearly caught Sirius went quite unnoticed.

"I've been suspecting this ever since Filch accused you of ordering Dungbombs, because it seemed such a stupid lie," Hermione whispered. "I mean, once your letter had been read, it would have been quite clear you weren't ordering them, so you wouldn't have been in trouble at all — it's a bit of a feeble joke, isn't it? But then I thought, what if somebody just wanted an excuse to read your mail? Well then, it would be a perfect way for Umbridge to manage it — tip off Filch, let him do the dirty work and confiscate the letter, then either find a way of stealing it from him or else demand to see it — I don't think Filch would object, when's he ever stuck up for a student's rights? Harry, you're squashing your frog." Christina looked down; he was indeed squeezing his bullfrog so tightly its eyes were popping; he replaced it hastily upon the desk.

"It was a very, very close call last night," said Hermione. "I just wonder if Umbridge knows how close it was. Silencio!" The bullfrog on which she was practicing her Silencing Charm was struck dumb mid-croak and glared at her reproachfully.

"If she'd caught Snuffles . . ." Christina finished the sentence for her. "He'd probably be back in Azkaban this morning." She waved her wand without really concentrating; she had mastered silencing charms during the end of her third year when she and Fred would sound-proof a closet they'd be sharing. . . her bullfrog was immediately silenced.

"Silencio!" said Hermione hastily, pointing her wand at Harry's frog which had inflated and was screaming but thanks to Hermione it deflated silently before them.

"Well, he mustn't do it again, that's all. I just don't know how we're going to let him know. We can't send him an owl."

"I don't reckon he'll risk it again," said Ron. "He's not stupid, he knows she nearly got him. Silencio!" The large and ugly raven in front of him let out a derisive caw. "Silencio! SILENCIO!" The raven cawed more loudly.

"It's the way you're moving your wand," said Hermione, watching Ron critically. "You don't want to wave it, it's more a sharp jab."

"Ravens are harder than frogs," said Ron testily.

"Fine, let's swap," said Hermione, seizing Ron's raven and replacing it with her own fat bullfrog. "Silencio!" The raven continued to open and close its sharp beak, but no sound came out.

"Very good, Miss Granger!" said Professor Flitwick's squeaky little voice and Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all jumped. "Now, let me see you try, Mr. Weasley!"

"Wha — ? Oh — oh, right," said Ron, very flustered. "Er — Silencio!" He jabbed at the bullfrog so hard that he poked it in the eye; the frog gave a deafening croak and leapt off the desk. It came as no surprise to any of them that Harry and Ron were given additional practice of the Silencing Charm for homework. They were allowed to remain inside over break due to the downpour outside. They found seats in a noisy and overcrowded classroom on the first floor in which Peeves was floating dreamily up near the chandelier, occasionally blowing an ink pellet at the top of somebody's head. They had barely sat down when Angelina came struggling toward them through the groups of gossiping students.

"I've got permission!" she said. "To re-form the Quidditch team!"

"Excellent!" said Christina, Harry, and Ron together.

"Yeah," said Angelina, beaming. "I went to McGonagall and I think she might have appealed to Dumbledore — anyway, Umbridge had to give in. Ha! So I want you down at the pitch at seven o'clock tonight, all right, because we've got to make up time, you realize we're only three weeks away from our first match?" She squeezed away from them, narrowly dodged an ink pellet from Peeves, which hit a nearby first year instead, and vanished from sight. Ron's smile slipped slightly as he looked out of the window, which was now opaque with hammering rain.

"Hope this clears up . . . What's up with you, Hermione?" She too was gazing at the window, but not as though she really saw it. Her eyes were unfocused and there was a frown on her face.

"Just thinking . . ." she said, still frowning at the rain-washed window.

"About Siri . . . Snuffles?" said Harry.

"No . . . not exactly . . ." said Hermione slowly. "More . . . wondering . . . I suppose we're doing the right thing . . . I think . . . aren't we?" Christina, Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"Well, that clears that up," said Ron. "It would've been really annoying if you hadn't explained yourself properly." Hermione looked at him as though she had only just realized he was there.

"I was just wondering," she said, her voice stronger now, "whether we're doing the right thing, starting this Defense Against the Dark Arts group."

"What!" said Christina, Harry and Ron together.

"Hermione, it was your idea in the first place!" said Ron indignantly.

"I know," said Hermione, twisting her fingers together. "But after talking to Snuffles . . ."

"But he's all for it!" said Harry.

"Yes," said Hermione, staring at the window again. "Yes, that's what made me think maybe it wasn't a good idea after all. . . ." Peeves floated over them on his stomach, peashooter at the ready; automatically all four of them lifted their bags to cover their heads until he had passed.

"Let's get this straight," said Harry angrily, as they put their bags back on the floor, "Sirius agrees with us, so you don't think we should do it anymore?" Hermione looked tense and rather miserable. Now staring at her own hands she said, "Do you honestly trust his judgment?"

"Yes, I do!" said Harry at once. "He's always given us great advice!" An ink pellet whizzed past them, striking Katie Bell squarely in the ear. Hermione watched Katie leap to her feet and start throwing things at Peeves; it was a few moments before Hermione spoke again and it sounded as though she was choosing her words very carefully.

"You don't think he has become . . . sort of . . . reckless . . . since he's been cooped up in Grimmauld Place? You don't think he's . . . kind of . . . living through us?"

"What d'you mean, 'living through us'?" Harry retorted.

"I mean . . . well, I think he'd love to be forming secret defense societies right under the nose of someone from the Ministry. . . . I think he's really frustrated at how little he can do where he is . . . so I think he's keen to kind of . . . egg us on." Ron looked utterly perplexed.

"Sirius is right," he said, "you do sound just like my mother." Hermione bit her lip and did not answer. The bell rang just as Peeves swooped down upon Katie and emptied an entire ink bottle over her head. The weather did not improve as the day wore on, so that at seven o'clock that evening, when Christina, Harry and Ron went down to the Quidditch pitch for practice, they were soaked through within minutes, their feet slipping and sliding on the sodden grass. Christina hated being in the rain because it meant she couldn't use her natural powers, even if the tiniest part of her was wet it was as though she were powerless.

The sky was a deep, thundery gray and it was a relief to gain the warmth and light of the changing rooms, even if they knew the respite was only temporary. They found Fred and George debating whether to use one of their own Skiving Snackboxes to get out of flying.

"— but I bet she'd know what we'd done," Fred said out of the corner of his mouth. "If only I hadn't offered to sell her some Puking Pastilles yesterday —"

"We could try the Fever Fudge," George muttered, "no one's seen that yet —"

"Does it work?" inquired Ron hopefully, as the hammering of rain on the roof intensified and wind howled around the building.

"Well, yeah," said Fred, "your temperature'll go right up —"

"— but you get these massive pus-filled boils too," said George, "and we haven't worked out how to get rid of them yet."

"I can't see any boils," said Ron, staring at the twins.

"No, well, you wouldn't," said Fred darkly, "they're not in a place we generally display to the public —"

"Is that what that was? God, Fred test them on others!" Christina said peeved.

"Not if your prefects have got anything to say about it, right Ron?" said George.

"All right, everyone, listen up," said Angelina loudly, emerging from the Captain's office. "I know it's not ideal weather, but there's a good chance we'll be playing Slytherin in conditions like this so it's a good idea to work out how we're going to cope with them. Harry, didn't you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?"

"Hermione did it," said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, "Impervius!"

"I think we all ought to try that," said Angelina. "If we could just keep the rain off our faces it would really help visibility — all together, come on — Impervius! Okay. Let's go." They all stowed their wands back in the inside pockets of their robes, shouldered their brooms, and followed Angelina out of the changing rooms. They squelched through the deepening mud to the middle of the pitch; visibility was still very poor even with the Impervius Charm; light was fading fast and curtains of rain were sweeping the grounds.

"All right, on my whistle," shouted Angelina. Christina kicked off from the ground, spraying mud in all directions, and shot upward, the wind pulling her slightly off course. She was having difficulty seeing the quaffles, so passing them was nearly impossible. Harry got hit with a Bludger; none of them had a clue what the others were doing; Christina wouldn't have known Harry had been hit had he not yelled out in pain and Fred not yell back 'Sorry!'

The wind was picking up; even at a distance Christina could hear the swishing, pounding sounds of the rain pummeling the surface of the lake. Angelina kept them at it for nearly an hour before conceding defeat. She led her sodden and disgruntled team back into the changing rooms, insisting that the practice had not been a waste of time, though without any real conviction in her voice. Fred and George were looking particularly annoyed; both were bandy-legged and winced with every movement. Christina could hear them complaining in low voices as she toweled her hair dry.

"I think a few of mine have ruptured," said Fred in a hollow voice.

"Mine haven't," said George, wincing. "They're throbbing like mad . . . feel bigger if anything . . ." Christina then felt a sharp pang of pain and Harry cried out "OUCH!" Christina's scar on her hand had seared again, more painfully than in months.

"What's up?" said several voices. All faces were looking to Christina and Harry.

"Nothing," he muttered, "I — poked myself in the eye, that's all. . . ." Christina realized that no one noticed her wince so they took Harry's word and the rest of the team filed back outside, muffled in their cloaks, their hats pulled low over their ears, Ron and Harry stayed behind.

"What happened?" said Ron, the moment that Alicia had disappeared through the door. "Was it your scar?" Christina and Harry nodded. "But . . ." Looking scared, Ron strode across to the window and stared out into the rain, "He — he can't be near us now, can he?"

"No," Harry muttered, sinking onto a bench and rubbing his forehead. "He's probably miles away. It hurt because . . . he's . . . angry." Christina looked at him quite seriously, had he really just said that?

"Did you see him?" said Christina, looking horrified. "I didn't see anything, my hand just hurt. . . " Harry sat quite still, staring at his feet,

"He wants something done, and it's not happening fast enough," he said. Christina was taken-aback, what had she missed?

"But . . . how do you know?" said Ron. Harry shook his head and covered his eyes with his hands, pressing down upon them with his palms. Christina and Ron sat next to him on the bench, staring.

"Is this what it was about last time?" said Ron in a hushed voice. "When your scar hurt? You-Know-Who was angry?" Harry shook his head.

"What is it, then?" asked Ron. Harry paused and then slowly said, "Last time, it was because he was pleased," he said. "Really pleased. He thought . . . something good was going to happen. And the night before we came back to Hogwarts . . . He was furious. . . ." Both Christina and Ron were gaping at him. How could she not also know this?

"You could take over from Trelawney, mate," he said in an awed voice.

"I'm not making prophecies," said Harry.

"No, you know what you're doing?" Ron said, sounding both scared and impressed. "Harry, you're reading You-Know-Who's mind. . . ."

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "It's more like . . . his mood, I suppose. I'm just getting flashes of what mood he's in. . . . Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. . . . He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I'm feeling it when he's pleased too. . . ." There was a pause. The wind and rain lashed at the building.

"You've got to tell someone," said Ron.

"I told Sirius last time."

"Well, tell him about this time!"

"Can't, can I?" said Harry grimly. "Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?"

"Well then, Dumbledore —"

"I've just told you, he already knows," said Harry shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off his peg, and swinging it around himself. "There's no point telling him again." Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, watching Harry thoughtfully.

"Dumbledore'd want to know," he said. Harry shrugged. "C'mon . . . we've still got Silencing Charms to practice . . ." Christina stayed quiet contemplating how Harry could have known about Voldemort and she remained completely shut out. . .They hurried back through the dark grounds, sliding and stumbling up the muddy lawns, not talking. Maybe because Harry's scar was on his forehead he had more of a connection to Voldemort's mind? Was Harry's scar deeper than hers maybe with more of the curse lingering there? Surely Dumbleore would want to know this but she had not seen him since the hearing, and this kind of radio silence was not common of Dumbledore. . .

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," said Ron's voice and Christina came back to her senses just in time to clamber through the portrait hole into the common room. It appeared that Hermione had gone to bed early, leaving Crookshanks curled in a nearby chair and an assortment of knobbly, knitted elf hats lying on a table by the fire. Christina wished that she was around because she wanted to hear Hermione's input. Having no homework immediately due she headed up to the girl's dormitory and went to sleep.

She was walking once more along a windowless corridor, her footsteps echoing in the silence. The walls, black tile, cold, easily breakable. . . As the door at the end of the passage loomed larger her heart beat fast with excitement. . . . If she could only open it . . . enter beyond . . . She stretched out her hand. . . . Her fingertips were inches from it. . . .

"Sssshhh!" Christina's eyes popped open to Lavender Brown shushing her. She must have been talking in her sleep again. "Sorry!" she whispered back. There was the distinct sound of someone falling back down onto the bed and turning over. Christina too turned to her side, trying to rid herself of the image of the door in her dream. . . . It had been very vivid. . . .but before she could contemplate the dream she was off again and without any dreams to disturb her she slept peacefully throughout the night.

The next day their robes billowed and swirled around them as they splashed across the flooded vegetable patch to double Herbology, where they could hardly hear what Professor Sprout was saying over the hammering of raindrops hard as hailstones on the greenhouse roof. The afternoon's Care of Magical Creatures lesson was to be relocated from the stormswept grounds to a free classroom on the ground floor and, to their intense relief, Angelina sought out her team at lunch to tell them that Quidditch practice was canceled.

"Good, by the way Christina, did you ever happen to think of a good location for our Defense Against the Dark Arts group?" said Harry in an accusatory manner. Christina shot him a look, "What did I do now, Harry?"

"Dobby told me of a perfect location for our meetings" said Harry.

"Harry, that's fantastic!" said Hermione, but Harry held up a hand to indicate that he was not done talking. "And, he said very few people knew of this location, except he knew that you and Fred go there at least once a week" Christina knew she was caught, so instead of lying she tried to make light of the situation.

"Well, it's mainly used now for Fred and George to test their-"

"How could you not tell us!" said Harry angrily. "Do you not want us to practice using defensive spells?"

"It's not that! I just would rather that room not get found out about and boarded it. It's been Fred and my secret getaway-" Ron groaned but Hermione leaned in. "Where is it?"

"Seventh floor opposite that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by those trolls. It appears itself to those who need it most-"

"You are unbelievable, you know that?" Harry continued. Christina rolled her eyes, he gaped at her "What?" he asked.

"Harry, can we get through one day without you having a fucking meltdown?" she shot back bitterly.

"I'm having a meltdown? Look, I'm sorry your little honeymoon suite is going away but this is important! Either show up at 8 o'clock ready or don't come at all" Christina looked at him with harsh eyes and then got up and joined Fred, George and Lee for lunch. She told the three of them about the meeting and they were all excited, Fred didn't seem remotely phased by their hideaway being used.

Christina spent the rest of the day with Fred and she caught glimpses of Harry, Ron and Hermione rushing around the castle to notify all twenty-five members of their secret club. Christina and Fred were playing a game in the common room when Harry, Ron and Hermione sat down by the fire to finish homework.

At half-past seven Harry got up and looked to Ron and Hermione who were watching Christina across the room. Christina, watching the whole interaction, got up and joined the trio.

"I'm sorry I-"

"It doesn't matter" said Harry nicely. "Let's go" She smiled and nodded, and they went through the portrait-hole to the seventh floor. Fifth years were allowed to be out in the corridors until nine o'clock, but all four of them kept looking around nervously as they made their way up to the seventh floor.

"Hold it," said Harry warningly, unfolding an old piece of parchment at the top of the last staircase, tapping it with his wand, and muttering, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." A map of Hogwarts appeared upon the blank surface of the parchment. Tiny black moving dots, labeled with names, showed where various people were.

"Filch is on the second floor," said Harry, holding the map close to his eyes and scanning it closely, "and Mrs. Norris is on the fourth."

"And Umbridge?" said Hermione anxiously.

"In her office," said Harry, pointing. "Okay, let's go." As they reached the wall, Christina demonstrated how to enter by walking past the wall three times concentrating on what you wanted and within seconds the highly polished door had appeared in the wall. Ron was staring at it, looking slightly wary. Harry reached out, seized the brass handle, pulled open the door, and led the way into a spacious room lit with flickering torches like those that illuminated the dungeons eight floors below. The walls were lined with wooden bookcases, and instead of chairs there were large silk cushions on the floor. A set of shelves at the far end of the room carried a range of instruments such as Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors, and a large, cracked Foe-Glass that Christina was sure had hung, the previous year, in the fake Moody's office.

"These will be good when we're practicing Stunning," said Ron enthusiastically, prodding one of the cushions with his foot.

"And just look at these books!" said Hermione excitedly, running a finger along the spines of the large leather-bound tomes. "A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions . . . The Dark Arts Outsmarted . . . Self-Defensive Spellwork . . . wow . . ." She looked around at Christina , her face glowing, and she saw that the presence of hundreds of books had finally convinced Hermione that what they were doing was right.

"Christina, this is wonderful, there's everything we need here!" And without further ado she slid Jinxes for the Jinxed from its shelf, sank onto the nearest cushion, and began to read. There was a gentle knock on the door. Christina looked around; Ginny, Neville, Lavender, Parvati, and Dean had arrived.

"Whoa," said Dean, staring around, impressed. "What is this place?" Christina began to explain, but before she had finished more people had arrived, and she had to start all over again. By the time eight o'clock arrived, every cushion was occupied. Christina moved across to the door and turned the key protruding from the lock; it clicked in a satisfyingly loud way and everybody fell silent, looking at her. Hermione carefully marked her page of Jinxes for the Jinxed and set the book aside.

"Well," said Harry, slightly nervously. "This is the place we've found for practices, and you've — er — obviously found it okay —"

"It's fantastic!" said Cho, and several people murmured their agreement.

"It's bizarre," said Cho's friend, frowning around at it.

"We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then. . . ." Fred added.

"Hey, Harry, what's this stuff?" asked Dean from the rear of the room, indicating the Sneakoscopes and the Foe-Glass.

"Dark Detectors," said Harry, stepping between the cushions to reach them. "Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don't want to rely on them too much, they can be fooled. . . ."

"Well, I've been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and — er —" He noticed a raised hand. "What, Hermione?"

"I think we ought to elect leaders," said Hermione.

"Harry and Christina's leaders," said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad.

"Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly," said Hermione, unperturbed. "It makes it formal and it gives them authority. So — everyone who thinks Harry and Christina ought to be our leaders?" Everybody put up their hands, even Zacharias Smith, though he did it very halfheartedly.

"Er — right, thanks," said Harry.

"Sweet." said Christina. "And — what, Hermione?"

"I also think we ought to have a name," she said brightly, her hand still in the air. "It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

"Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" said Angelina hopefully.

"Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?" suggested Fred.

"I was thinking," said Hermione, frowning at Fred, "more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings."

"The Defense Association?" said Cho. "The D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?"

"Yeah, the D.A.'s good," said Ginny. "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?" There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this.

"All in favor of the D.A.?" said Hermione bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. "That's a majority — motion passed!" She pinned the piece of paper with all of their names on it on the wall and wrote DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY across the top in large letters.

"Right," said Harry, when she had sat down again, "shall we get practicing then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is Expelliarmus, you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it's pretty basic but I've found it really useful —"

"Oh please," said Zacharias Smith, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. "I don't think Expelliarmus is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?"

"I've used it against him," Christina lied cooly. "It saved my life last June." Smith opened his mouth stupidly. The rest of the room was very quiet. "But if you think it's beneath you, you can leave," Christina said. Smith did not move. Nor did anybody else.

"Okay, I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practice." It felt very odd to be issuing instructions, but not nearly as odd as seeing them followed. Everybody got to their feet at once and divided up. Predictably, Neville was left partnerless.

"You can practice with me," Harry told him. "Right — on the count of three, then — one, two, three —" The room was suddenly full of shouts of "Expelliarmus!": Wands flew in all directions, missed spells hit books on shelves and sent them flying into the air. Christina watched the madness unfurl around her and decided to pace around the room giving small pointers.

Christina watched Neville, whose wand went spinning out of his hand, hit the ceiling in a shower of sparks, and landed with a clatter on top of a bookshelf, from which Harry retrieved it with a Summoning Charm. Glancing around she thought she had been right to suggest that they practice the basics first; there was a lot of shoddy spellwork going on; many people were not succeeding in disarming their opponents at all, but merely causing them to jump backward a few paces or wince as the feeble spell whooshed over them.

"Expelliarmus!" said Neville, and Harry's wand flew out of his hand. "I DID IT!" said Neville gleefully. "I've never done it before — I DID IT!"

"Good one!" said Christina encouragingly, deciding not to point out that in a real duel situation Neville's opponent was unlikely to be staring in the opposite direction with their wand held loosely at their side. Something very odd was happening to Zacharias Smith; every time he opened his mouth to disarm Anthony Goldstein, his own wand would fly out of his hand, yet Anthony did not seem to be making a sound. Christina did not have to look far for the solution of the mystery, however; Fred and George were several feet from Smith and taking it in turns to point their wands at his back.

"Sorry, Christina," said George hastily, when Christina caught his eye. "Couldn't resist . . ." She laughed, winked, then continued on. Christina walked around the other pairs, trying to correct those who were doing the spell wrong. Ginny was teamed with Michael Corner; she was doing very well, whereas Michael was either very bad or unwilling to jinx her. Ernie Macmillan was flourishing his wand unnecessarily, giving his partner time to get in under his guard; the Creevey brothers were enthusiastic but erratic and mainly responsible for all the books leaping off the shelves around them. Luna Lovegood was similarly patchy, occasionally sending Justin Finch-Fletchley's wand spinning out of his hand, at other times merely causing his hair to stand on end.

"Okay, stop!" Christina shouted. "Stop! STOP !" I need a whistle, she thought, and immediately spotted one lying on top of the nearest row of books. She caught it up and blew hard. Everyone lowered their wands.

"That wasn't bad," said Christina, "but there's definite room for improvement." Zacharias Smith glared at her. "Let's try again. . . ." This time she paired up with Neville so Harry could move off around the room, stopping here and there to make suggestions. Neville wasn't a terrible partner but Christina wasn't one to let anything get past her, so for the next half-hour Neville spent most of his time retrieving his wand while Christina expelled it away.

"Hey, Harry," Hermione called from the other end of the room, "have you checked the time?" Harry had now obtained his own whistle and blew it; everybody stopped shouting, "Expelliarmus!" and the last couple of wands clattered to the floor.

"Well, that was pretty good," said Harry, "but we've overrun, we'd better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?"

"Sooner!" said Dean Thomas eagerly and many people nodded in agreement. Angelina, however, said quickly, "The Quidditch season's about to start, we need team practices too!"

"Let's say next Wednesday night, then," said Christina, "and we can decide on additional meetings then. . . . Come on, we'd better get going. . . ." Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map again and checked it thoroughly. Harry let them all leave in threes and fours, watching their tiny dots anxiously to see that they returned safely to their dormitories: the Hufflepuffs to the basement corridor that also led to the kitchens, the Ravenclaws to a tower on the west side of the castle, and the Gryffindors along the corridor to the seventh floor and the Fat Lady's portrait.

"That was really, really good, you two!" said Hermione, when finally it was just her, Christina, Harry, and Ron left.

"Yeah, it was!" said Ron enthusiastically, as they slipped out of the door and watched it melt back into stone behind them. "Did you see me disarm Hermione?"

"Only once," said Hermione, stung. "I got you loads more than you got me —"

"I did not only get you once, I got you at least three times —"

"Well, if you're counting the one where you tripped over your own feet and knocked the wand out of my hand —" They argued all the way back to the common room, but Christina didn't mind. They were finally doing something against Umbridge, and that, if anything, lifted her spirits the most.


	18. Chapter 18: The Match

Christina felt as though she were carrying some kind of talisman inside her chest over the following two weeks, a glowing secret that supported her through Umbridge's classes and even made it possible for her to smile blandly as she looked into Umbridge's horrible bulging eyes. Christina and the D.A. were resisting her under her very nose, doing the very thing that Umbridge and the Ministry most feared, and whenever Christina was supposed to be reading Wilbert Slinkhard's book during her lessons Christina dwelled instead on satisfying memories of their most recent meetings, remembering how Neville had successfully disarmed Hermione, how Colin Creevey had mastered the Impediment Jinx after three meetings' hard effort, how Parvati Patil had produced such a good Reductor Curse that she had reduced the table carrying all the Sneakoscopes to dust. She was finding it almost impossible to fix a regular night of the week for D.A. meetings, as they had to accommodate three separate Quidditch teams' practices, which were often rearranged depending on the weather conditions; but Christina was not sorry about this, she had a feeling that it was probably better to keep the timing of their meetings unpredictable. If anyone was watching them, it would be hard to make out a pattern.

Hermione soon devised a very clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look so suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the D.A. a fake Galleon (Ron became very excited when he saw the basket at first, convinced that she was actually giving out gold).

"You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?" Hermione said, holding one up for examination at the end of their fourth meeting. The coin gleamed fat and yellow in the light from the torches. "On real Galleons that's just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry and Christina set the date of the next meeting they'll change the numbers on their coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic their's." A blank silence greeted Hermione's words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted.

"Well — I thought it was a good idea," she said uncertainly, "I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But . . . well, if you don't want to use them . . ."

"You can do a Protean Charm?" said Terry Boot.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"But that's . . . that's N.E.W.T. standard, that is," he said weakly.

"Oh," said Hermione, trying to look modest. "Oh . . . well . . . yes, I suppose it is. . . ."

"How come you're not in Ravenclaw?" he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. "With brains like yours?"

"Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting," said Hermione brightly, "but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So does that mean we're using the Galleons?" There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forward to collect one from the basket. Christina looked sideways at Hermione.

"You know what these remind me of?"

"No, what's that?"

"The Death Eaters' scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they've got to join him."

"Well . . . yes," said Hermione quietly. "That is where I got the idea . . . but you'll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members' skin. . . ."

"Yeah . . . I prefer your way," said Christina, grinning, as she slipped her Galleon into her pocket.

"I suppose the only danger with these is that we might accidentally spend them." said Harry joining in.

"Fat chance," said Ron, who was examining his own fake Galleon with a slightly mournful air. "I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with."

As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer, their D.A. meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretense of sportsmanship, were determined to see their side's victory. Christina realized how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match.

"I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment," she said loftily. Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Christina, Harry and Ron and said grimly, "I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study and I really don't want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practice, won't you?"

Snape was no less obviously partisan: He had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast that they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eyewitnesses who insisted that they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library. Christina felt optimistic about Gryffindor's chances; they had, after all, never lost to Malfoy's team. Ron was still quite dreadful, on nighttime walks with Fred they shared their concerns about him. Harry was always optimisic when it came to Ron's performance but there was no denying he was just not good at being Keeper. His greatest weakness was a tendency to lose confidence when he made a blunder; if he let in one goal he became flustered and was therefore likely to miss more. On the other hand, during one memorable practice, he had hung one-handed from his broom and kicked the Quaffle so hard away from the goal hoop that it soared the length of the pitch and through the center hoop at the other end. The rest of the team felt this save compared favorably with one made recently by Barry Ryan, the Irish International Keeper, against Poland's top Chaser, Ladislaw Zamojski. Even Fred had said that Ron might yet make him and George proud, and that they were seriously considering admitting that he was related to them, something he assured Ron they had been trying to deny for four years.

Another thing really worrying Christina was how much Ron was allowing the tactics of the Slytherin team to upset him before they even got onto the pitch. Christina, of course, had endured their snide comments for two years, so whispers of, "Hey, Babyskill, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday," far from chilling her blood, made her laugh.

"Warrington's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me," she retorted, which made Harry, Ron and Hermione laugh and wiped the smirk off Pansy Parkinson's face. But Ron had never endured a relentless campaign of insults, jeers, and intimidation. When Slytherins, some of them seventh years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors, "Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?" he did not laugh, but turned a delicate shade of green. When Draco Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he did whenever they were within sight of each other), Ron's ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly that he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time too.

October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly gray, the mountains around Hogwarts became snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so far that many students wore their thick protective dragon skin gloves in the corridors between lessons. The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise; Christina looked around and saw that nearly everyone there was wearing, in addition to the usual green-and-silver scarves and hats, silver badges in the shape of what seemed to be crowns. For some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously. Christina tried to see what was written on the badges as she walked by, but she was too concerned to get Ron past their table quickly to linger long enough to read them. They received a rousing welcome at the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold, but far from raising Ron's spirits the cheers seemed to sap the last of his morale; he collapsed onto the nearest bench looking as though he were facing his final meal.

"I must've been mental to do this," he said in a croaky whisper. "Mental."

"Don't be thick," said Harry firmly, passing him a choice of cereals. "You're going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous."

"I'm rubbish," croaked Ron. "I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?"

"Get a grip," said Harry sternly. Christina jumped in, "Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant —" Ron turned a tortured face to Christina.

"That was an accident," he whispered miserably. "I didn't mean to do it — I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and I was trying to get back on and I kicked the Quaffle by accident."

"Well," said Christina, recovering quickly from this unpleasant surprise, "a few more accidents like that and the game's in the bag, isn't it?" she said unconvincingly. Hermione and Ginny sat down opposite them wearing red-and gold scarves, gloves, and rosettes.

"How're you feeling?" Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering attempting to drown himself in them.

"He's just nervous," said Harry.

"Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous," said Hermione heartily.

"Hello," said a vague and dreamy voice from behind them. Christina looked up: Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head.

"I'm supporting Gryffindor," said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. "Look what it does. . . ." She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.

"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna happily. "I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway . . . good luck, Ronald!" She drifted away. They had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat before Angelina came hurrying toward them, accompanied by Katie and Alicia, whose eyebrows had mercifully been returned to normal by Madam Pomfrey.

"When you're ready," she said, "we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change."

"We'll be there in a bit," Harry assured her. "Ron's just got to have some breakfast." It became clear after ten minutes, however, that Ron was not capable of eating anything more and Harry thought it best to get him down to the changing rooms, Christina followed. As they rose from the table, Hermione got up too, and taking Harry's arm and Christina's shoulder, she drew them to one side.

"Don't let Ron see what's on those Slytherins' badges," she whispered urgently. Christina looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head warningly; Ron had just ambled over to them, looking lost and desperate.

"Good luck, Ron," said Hermione, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. "And you, too —" she said to Christina and Harry. Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as they walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened. He seemed too distracted to notice much around him, but Christina cast a curious glance at the crown-shaped badges as they passed the Slytherin table, and this time she made out the words etched onto them: WEASLEY IS OUR KING

With an unpleasant feeling that this could mean nothing good, she and Harry hurried Ron across the entrance hall, down the stone steps, and out into the icy air. The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns toward the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes. Harry pointed out these encouraging factors to Ron as they walked, but Christina was not sure that Ron was listening.

Angelina had changed already and was talking to the rest of the team when they entered. Christina, Harry and Ron pulled on their robes (Ron attempted to do his up back-to-front for several minutes before Alicia took pity on him and went to help) and then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle toward the pitch.

"Okay, I've only just found out the final lineup for Slytherin," said Angelina, consulting a piece of parchment. "Last year's Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left now, but it looks as though Montague's replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They're two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know much about them —"

"We do," said Harry and Ron together, Christina laughed.

"Well, they don't look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from another," said Angelina, pocketing her parchment, "but then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way onto the pitch without signposts."

"Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mold," Christina assured her. They could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands now. Some people were singing, though Christina could not make out the words. She was starting to feel nervous, but she knew her butterflies were nothing to Ron's, who was clutching his stomach and staring straight ahead again, his jaw set and his complexion pale gray.

"It's time," said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. "C'mon everyone . . . good luck." The team rose, shouldered their brooms, and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight. A roar of sound greeted them in which Christina could still hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles. The Slytherin team were standing waiting for them. They too were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. Behind their new captain Montague lurked Crabbe and Goyle, almost as large, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, swinging their new Beaters' bats. Malfoy stood to one side, the sunlight gleaming on his whiteblond head. Christina saw Malfoy and Harry make faces at eachother and Malfoy tapped the crownshaped badge on his chest.

"Captains shake hands," ordered the umpire, Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. Christina could tell that Montague was trying to crush Angelina's fingers, though she did not wince.

"Mount your brooms. . . ." Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew. The balls were released and the sixteen players shot upward; out of the corner of her eye Christina saw Ron streak off toward the goal hoops. He zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and set off herself swerved between Alicia and Angelina. "And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me —"

"JORDAN!" yelled Professor McGonagall.

"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest — and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's — ouch — been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe. . . . Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and — nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Christina Bataskill and Bataskill's away —" Lee Jordan's commentary rang through the stadium and Christina listened as hard as she could through the wind whistling in her ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing —

"— dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger — close call, Christina — and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?" And as Lee paused to listen the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands:

 _Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring, That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King. Weasley was born in a bin, He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King._

"— and Christina passes back to Angelina!" Lee shouted, and as Christina swerved, her insides boiling at what she had just heard, she knew Lee was trying to drown out the sound of the singing.

"Come on now, Angelina — looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat! — SHE SHOOTS — SHE — aaaah . . ." Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zigzagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder but she soared down below to catch the quaffle had any Slytherin dropped it. . .

 _Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King._

Christina turned to see Ron at the other end of the pitch, a lone figure, hovering before the three goal hoops while the massive Warrington pelted toward him . . .

"— and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead —" A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below:

 _Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring . ._ .

"— so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper, Weasley, brother of Beaters, Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team — come on, Ron!" But the scream of delight came from the Slytherin end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them, straight through Ron's central hoop. Christina pelted at top speed toward the now falling quaffle.

"Slytherin score!" came Lee's voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below. "So that's ten-nil to Slytherin — bad luck, Ron . . ." The Slytherins sang even louder:

 _WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN, HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN . . ._

"— and Gryffindor back in possession and it's Christina Bataskill tanking up the pitch —" cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard above it.

 _WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN, WEASLEY IS OUR KING . . ._

Christina went into a dive trying to shake off Pucey trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium:

 _WEASLEY IS OUR KING, WEASLEY IS OUR KING . . ._

 _WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN . . ._

WHAM! A bludger hit Christina's broom and spun her downwards, Warrington body-slammed her and the quaffle slipped from her grip and into Warrington's

"— and it's Warrington again," bellowed Lee, "who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now Angelina, you can take him — turns out you can't — but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley, I mean, George Weasley, oh who cares, one of them anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell — er — drops it too — so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle, and he's off up the pitch, come on now Gryffindor, block him!" After re-orienting herself she zoomed forward to the middle of the stadium and even heard Slytherin members chanting -

 _WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING . . ._

"— and Pucey's dodged Alicia again, and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!" Christina did not have to look to see what had happened: There was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins. Looking down, Christina saw the pugfaced Pansy Parkinson right at the front of the stands, her back to the pitch as she conducted the Slytherin supporters who were roaring:

 _THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING: WEASLEY IS OUR KING._

But twenty-nil was nothing, there was still time for Gryffindor to catch up or catch the Snitch, a few goals and they would be in the lead as usual, Christina assured herself, bobbing and weaving through the other players in pursuit of the quaffle. . . But Ron let in two more goals. Christina took the game into her own hands and decided to play just like the Slytherins: use muscle. She caught Fred's eye and together they flew on either side of Warrington, Christina tried to get his attention, "HEY!" she clapped at him and he looked over, just then Fred sent a bludger whipping towards him and smacked him right in the shoulder. Christina dove for the quaffle to the cheers of the Gryffindor side,

"— nice move from Christina Bataskil and Fred Weasley; lovers of the Gryffindor Quiditch Team-"

"Lee Jordan, if you cannot-!"

"Sorry, Professor! Bataskill dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Christina, and she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now Christina — GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle. . . ."

Christina could hear Luna's ludicrous lion hat roaring amidst the Gryffindor cheers and felt heartened; only thirty points in it, that was nothing, they could pull back easily. Christina ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in her direction.

"— Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey — Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good — I mean bad — Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again . . ."

 _WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN, HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN, WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN_

Christina heard the Gryffindor spectators screaming their approval and looked wildly around the pitch before she spotted Harry holding the snitch. . . . They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in those goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won — WHAM! A Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forward off his broom; luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch. Christina heard Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, and flew down to Harry.

"Are you all right?" she asked him.

" 'Course I am," said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. Madam Hooch was zooming toward one of the Slytherin players above her, though she could not see who it was at this angle.

"It was that thug, Crabbe," said Angelina angrily. "He whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch — but we won, Harry, we won!" Christina heard a snort from behind her and turned around: Draco Malfoy had landed close by; white-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer.

"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" he said to Harry. "I've never seen a worse Keeper . . . but then he was born in a bin. . . . Did you like my lyrics?" Harry did not answer; Christina however was thrilled at the opportunity and started fake crying and rubbing her eyes, "Wahh, wahh, witty baby sad he wost the game?" she said in a mock baby voice.

"Shut up! You know, we wanted to write another couple of verses!" Malfoy called, as Christina watched Ron stalk off alone to the changing rooms. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about his mother, see —"

"Talk about sour grapes," said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.

"— we couldn't fit in useless loser either — for his father, you know —" Fred and George had realized what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through congratulatory hugging Christina they stiffened, looking around at Malfoy. Christina stepped forward,

"You must be confusing the Weasley's for the Malfoy's again, although with your father not loving you I can see how you would forget what they look like-"

"Leave it," said Angelina at once, Christina turned and saw that Fred was now advancing on Malfoy and Angelina took Fred by the arm. "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little —"

"— but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Bataskill?" said Malfoy, sneering. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay —" Christina now started yelling fake baby cries toward Malfoy so that Malfoy had to shout his insults at the group. Meanwhile, Harry was holding George back and it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Christina looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack. Malfoy egged on,

"At least I had parents to teach me how to act like a civilized human being, unlike-"

"I'd rather have no parents than the slimey, pompous ass your father is and the pathetic, mousey shrew of a loser you call your mother-"

"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, "you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Bataskill, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it —" and at that Harry and George leaped for Malfoy and began sprinting after him. _Shit_ she thought and ran after them, they were sprinting which such ferocity that Christina used her natural power to add a little kick in her step and was able to grab the hem of George's robe back and ripped it back using her own strength as well as some of her natural power. He flung back two feet behind her and she tackled him down, "Are you fucking crazy?!" she said, knees holding down his thighs and shaking his head. Christina saw Madame Hooch rush by and shout "IMPEDIMENTA!" and Christina looked back to see Harry knocked over and Draco Malfoy on the ground.

"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet again.

"Hmm, you're quite nice at this angle" said George and Christina wiped her head around, scoffed at him and slid off and onto the ground. "God, George. . ."

Madame Hooch was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other, her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background.

"I've never seen behavior like it — back up to the castle, Potter, you two as well!" she said pointing toward George and Christina "-and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!" Christina gaped at Madame Hooch and was forcibly lifted up by George and they, along with Harry marched off the pitch.

The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the entrance hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps. They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagall's office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode toward them, looking livid.

"In!" she said furiously, pointing to the door. Christina, Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside onto the floor.

"Well?" she said. "I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Explain yourselves!"

"Malfoy provoked us," said Harry stiffly.

"Provoked you?" shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist onto her desk so that her tartan biscuit tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts.

"From what I saw it was Ms. Bataskill doing the provoking! And he'd just lost, hadn't he, of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you three —"

"He insulted my parents," snarled George. "And Christina's mother."

"But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you decided to give an exhibition of Muggle dueling, did you?" bellowed Professor McGonagall. "If it weren't for Ms. Bataskill intercepting you I'm certain this would have been a brawl! Have you any idea what you've — ?"

"Hem, hem." Christina, George and Harry spun around. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and smiling in the horribly sickly, ominous way that Christina had come to associate with imminent misery.

"May I help, Professor McGonagall?" asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice. Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall's face.

"Help?" she repeated in a constricted voice. "What do you mean, 'help'?" Professor Umbridge moved forward into the office, still smiling her sickly smile.

"Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority." Christina would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall's nostrils.

"You thought wrong," she said, turning her back on Umbridge. "Now, you three had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behavior was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detention! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever —"

"Hem, hem." Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face toward Professor Umbridge again. "Yes?"

"I think they deserve rather more than detentions," said Umbridge, smiling still more broadly. Professor McGonagall's eyes flew open.

"But unfortunately," she said, with an attempt at a reciprocal smile that made her look as though she had lockjaw, "it is what I think that counts, as they are in my House, Dolores."

"Well, actually, Minerva," simpered Umbridge, "I think you'll find that what I think does count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it. . . . I mean," she gave a little false laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, "the Minister just sent it. . . . Ah yes . . ." She had pulled out a piece of parchment that she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said. "Hem, hem . . . 'Educational Decree Number Twenty-five . . .' "

"Not another one!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall violently.

"Well, yes," said Umbridge, still smiling. "As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we needed a further amendment. . . . You remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to re-form? How you took the case to Dumbledore, who insisted that the team be allowed to play? Well, now, I couldn't have that. I contacted the Minister at once, and he quite agreed with me that the High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or she — that is to say, I — would have less authority than common teachers! And you see now, don't you, Minerva, how right I was in attempting to stop the Gryffindor team re-forming? Dreadful tempers . . . Anyway, I was reading out our amendment . . . hem, hem . . . 'The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions, and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc., etc. . . .' " She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag, still smiling.

"So . . . I really think I will have to ban these three from playing Quidditch ever again," she said, looking from Christina to Harry to George and back again.

"Ban us?" Harry said, and his voice sounded strangely distant. "From playing . . . ever again?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick," said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said. "You, Ms. Bataskill and Mr. Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this young man's twin ought to be stopped too — if his teammates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young Mr. Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Professor McGonagall," she continued, turning back to Professor McGonagall who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her. "The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of them. Well . . . good afternoon to you." And with a look of the utmost satisfaction Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.

"Banned," said Angelina in a hollow voice, late that evening in the common room. "Banned. No Seeker and no Beaters . . . What on earth are we going to do?" It did not feel as though they had won the match at all. Everywhere Christina looked there were disconsolate and angry faces; the team themselves were slumped around the fire, all apart from Ron, who had not been seen since the end of the match.

"It's just so unfair," said Alicia numbly. "I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?"

"No," said Ginny miserably; she and Hermione were sitting on either side of Harry. "He just got lines, I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner."

"And banning Fred when he didn't even do anything!" said Alicia furiously, pummeling her knee with her fist.

"It's not my fault I didn't," said Fred, with a very ugly look on his face. "I would've pounded the little scumbag to a pulp if you three hadn't been holding me back." Christina stared miserably at the dark window. Snow was falling.

"I'm going to bed," said Angelina, getting slowly to her feet. "Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream. . . . Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet. . . ." She was soon followed by Alicia and Katie. Overwhelmed with sadness, Christina started to cry.

"Oh, Christina don't be upset, it's not your fault!" Hermione was the first person to notice and at her comment everyone looked around to her. Fred, to her left, put an arm around her and she leaned into his cheast. Ginny, to her right, placed a consoling hand on her shoulder.

"I just, there's nothing we can do!" Christina said through congestion. "She's just going to keep punishing us! The D.A. isn't going to help!" the thought of all their hardwork gone to nothing was greeted with silence and it was Ginny was spoke first.

"We'll get her back, Christina. If anyone is going to put a stop to her, it's going to be the D.A." Hearing this from someone Christina wasn't close with actually made her feel better. Ginny had no reason to lie or sugar-coat anything, what she said meant a lot to Christina.

They stayed bitter and tired at the fire place for some time. Fred and George sloped off to bed later, glowering at everyone they passed, and Ginny went not long after that. Only Christina, Harry and Hermione were left beside the fire.

"Have you seen Ron?" Hermione asked in a low voice. Christina and Harry shook their heads.

"I think he's avoiding us," said Hermione. "Where do you think he — ?" But at that precise moment, there was a creaking sound behind them as the Fat Lady swung forward and Ron came clambering through the portrait hole. He was very pale indeed and there was snow in his hair. When he saw Christina, Harry and Hermione he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Where have you been?" said Hermione anxiously, springing up.

"Walking," Ron mumbled. He was still wearing his Quidditch things.

"You look frozen," said Hermione. "Come and sit down!" Ron walked to the fireside and sank into the chair farthest from Harry's, not looking at him. The stolen Snitch zoomed over their heads.

"I'm sorry," Ron mumbled, looking at his feet.

"What for?" said Harry.

"For thinking I can play Quidditch," said Ron. "I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow."

"If you resign," said Harry testily, "there'll only be three players left on the team." And when Ron looked puzzled, he said, "I've been given a lifetime ban. So've Christina, Fred and George."

"What?" Ron yelped. Hermione told him the full story; Christina could not bear to tell it again. When she had finished, Ron looked more anguished than ever.

"This is all my fault —"

"You didn't make me punch Malfoy," said Harry angrily.

"— if I wasn't so lousy at Quidditch —"

"— it's got nothing to do with that —"

"— it was that song that wound me up —"

"— it would've wound anyone up —" Hermione got up and walked to the window, away from the argument, watching the snow swirling down against the pane.

"Look, drop it, will you!" Christina burst out. "It's bad enough without you blaming yourself for everything!" Ron said nothing but sat gazing miserably at the damp hem of his robes. After a while he said in a dull voice, "This is the worst I've ever felt in my life."

"Join the club," said Christina bitterly.

"Well," said Hermione, her voice trembling slightly. "I can think of one thing that might cheer you both up."

"Oh yeah?" said Harry skeptically.

"Yeah," said Hermione, turning away from the pitch-black, snowflecked window, a broad smile spreading across her face. "Hagrid's back."


	19. Chapter 19: Hagrid and the Giants

Christina and Hermione rushed up to the girls' dormitory and not five minutes later they were back wearing scarf, gloves, and Hermione wearing one of her own knobbly elf hats. The boys were already there waiting, Harry with his invisibility cloak and the Maurauder's Map

"Well, it's cold out there!" she said defensively, as Ron clicked his tongue impatiently. They crept through the portrait hole and covered themselves hastily in the cloak — Ron had grown so much he now needed to crouch to prevent his feet showing — then, moving slowly and cautiously, they proceeded down the many staircases, pausing at intervals to check the map for signs of Filch or Mrs. Norris. They were lucky; they saw nobody but Nearly Headless Nick, who was gliding along absentmindedly humming something that sounded horribly like "Weasley Is Our King." They crept across the entrance hall and then out into the silent, snowy grounds. They set off at a quick march and they crunched excitedly through the thickening snow until at last they reached the wooden front door; when Harry raised his fist and knocked three times, a dog started barking frantically inside.

"Hagrid, it's us!" Harry called through the keyhole.

"Shoulda known!" said a gruff voice. They beamed at one another under the cloak; they could tell that Hagrid's voice was pleased. "Bin home three seconds . . . Out the way, Fang . . . Out the way, yeh dozy dog . . ." The bolt was drawn back, the door creaked open, and Hagrid's head appeared in the gap. Hermione screamed.

"Merlin's beard, keep it down!" said Hagrid hastily, staring wildly over their heads. "Under that cloak, are yeh? Well, get in, get in!"

"I'm sorry!" Hermione gasped, as the four of them squeezed past Hagrid into the house and pulled the cloak off themselves so he could see them."I just — oh, Hagrid !"

"It's nuthin', it's nuthin'!" said Hagrid hastily, shutting the door behind them and hurrying to close all the curtains, but Hermione continued to gaze up at him in horror. Hagrid's hair was matted with congealed blood, and his left eye had been reduced to a puffy slit amid a mass of purple-and-black bruises. There were many cuts on his face and hands, some of them still bleeding, and he was moving gingerly, which made Christina suspect broken ribs. It was obvious that he had only just got home; a thick black traveling cloak lay over the back of a chair and a haversack large enough to carry several small children leaned against the wall inside the door. Hagrid himself, twice the size of a normal man and three times as broad, was now limping over to the fire and placing a copper kettle over it.

"What happened to you?" Harry demanded, while Fang danced around them all, trying to lick their faces.

"Told yeh, nuthin'," said Hagrid firmly. "Want a cuppa?"

"Come off it," said Ron, "you're in a right state!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, I'm fine," said Hagrid, straightening up and turning to beam at them all, but wincing. "Blimey, it's good ter see you all again — had good summers, did yeh?"

"Hagrid, you've been attacked!" said Christina.

"Fer the las' time, it's nuthin'!" said Hagrid firmly. "Would you say it was nothing if one of us turned up with a pound of mince instead of a face?" Ron demanded.

"You ought to go and see Madam Pomfrey, Hagrid," said Hermione anxiously. "Some of those cuts look nasty."

"I'm dealin' with it, all righ'?" said Hagrid repressively. He walked across to the enormous wooden table that stood in the middle of his cabin and twitched aside a tea towel that had been lying on it. Underneath was a raw, bloody, green-tinged steak slightly larger than the average car tire.

"You're not going to eat that, are you, Hagrid?" said Ron, leaning in for a closer look. "It looks poisonous."

"It's s'posed ter look like that, it's dragon meat," Hagrid said. "An' I didn' get it ter eat." He picked up the steak and slapped it over the left side of his face. Greenish blood trickled down into his beard as he gave a soft moan of satisfaction. "Tha's better. It helps with the stingin', yeh know."

"So are you going to tell us what's happened to you?" Harry asked. "Can', Harry. Top secret. More'n me job's worth ter tell yeh that."

"Did the giants beat you up, Hagrid?" asked Hermione quietly. Hagrid's fingers slipped on the dragon steak, and it slid squelchily onto his chest.

"Giants?" said Hagrid, catching the steak before it reached his belt and slapping it back over his face. "Who said anythin' abou' giants? Who yeh bin talkin' to? Who's told yeh what I've — who's said I've bin — eh?"

"We guessed," said Hermione apologetically.

"Oh, yeh did, did yeh?" said Hagrid, fixing her sternly with the eye that was not hidden by the steak.

"It was kind of . . . obvious," said Ron. Christina and Harry nodded. Hagrid glared at them, then snorted, threw the steak onto the table again and strode back to the kettle, which was now whistling.

"Never known kids like you four fer knowin' more'n yeh oughta," he muttered, splashing boiling water into four of his bucket-shaped mugs. "An' I'm not complimentin' yeh, neither. Nosy, some'd call it. Interferin'." But his beard twitched.

"So you have been to look for giants?" said Harry, grinning as he sat down at the table. Hagrid set tea in front of each of them, sat down, picked up his steak again, and slapped it back over his face.

"Yeah, all righ'," he grunted, "I have."

"And you found them?" said Hermione in a hushed voice.

"Well, they're not that difficult ter find, ter be honest," said Hagrid. "Pretty big, see."

"Where are they?" said Ron.

"Mountains," said Hagrid unhelpfully.

"So why don't Muggles — ?"

"They do," said Hagrid darkly. "O'ny their deaths are always put down ter mountaineerin' accidents, aren' they?" He adjusted the steak a little so that it covered the worst of the bruising.

"Come on, Hagrid, tell us what you've been up to!" said Ron. "Tell us about being attacked by the giants and Harry and Christina can tell you about being attacked by the dementors —" Hagrid choked in his mug and dropped his steak at the same time; a large quantity of spit, tea, and dragon blood was sprayed over the table as Hagrid coughed and spluttered and the steak slid, with a soft splat, onto the floor.

"Whadda yeh mean, attacked by dementors?" growled Hagrid.

"Didn't you know?" Hermione asked him, wide-eyed.

"I don' know anything that's been happenin' since I left. I was on a secret mission, wasn' I, didn' wan' owls followin' me all over the place — ruddy dementors! Yeh're not serious?"

"Yeah, I am, they turned up in Little Whinging and attacked my cousin, me, and Christina and then the Ministry of Magic expelled us —"

"WHAT?"

"— and we had to go to a hearing and everything, but tell us about the giants first."

"You were expelled?"

"Tell us about your summer and I'll tell you about mine." Hagrid glared at him through his one open eye. Harry looked right back, an expression of innocent determination on his face.

"Oh, all righ'," Hagrid said in a resigned voice. He bent down and tugged the dragon steak out of Fang's mouth.

"Oh, Hagrid, don't, it's not hygien —" Hermione began, but Hagrid had already slapped the meat back over his swollen eye. He took another fortifying gulp of tea and then said, "Well, we set off righ' after term ended —"

"Madame Maxime went with you, then?" Christina interjected.

"Yeah, tha's right," said Hagrid, and a softened expression appeared on the few inches of face that were not obscured by beard or green steak. "Yeah, it was jus' the pair of us. An' I'll tell yeh this, she's not afraid of roughin' it, Olympe. Yeh know, she's a fine, well-dressed woman, an' knowin' where we was goin' I wondered 'ow she'd feel abou' clamberin' over boulders an' sleepin' in caves an' tha', bu' she never complained once."

"You knew where you were going?" Harry asked. "You knew where the giants were?"

"Well, Dumbledore knew, an' he told us," said Hagrid.

"Are they hidden?" asked Ron. "Is it a secret, where they are?"

"Not really," said Hagrid, shaking his shaggy head. "It's jus' that mos' wizards aren' bothered where they are, s' long as it's a good long way away. But where they are's very difficult ter get ter, fer humans anyway, so we needed Dumbledore's instructions. Took us abou' a month ter get there —"

"A month?" said Ron, as though he had never heard of a journey lasting such a ridiculously long time. "But — why couldn't you just grab a Portkey or something?" There was an odd expression in Hagrid's unobscured eye as he squinted at Ron; it was almost pitying.

"We're bein' watched, Ron," he said gruffly.

"What d'you mean?"

"Yeh don' understand," said Hagrid. "The Ministry's keepin' an eye on Dumbledore an' anyone they reckon's in league with him, an' —"

"We know about that," said Harry quickly, keen to hear the rest of Hagrid's story. "We know about the Ministry watching Dumbledore —"

"So you couldn't use magic to get there?" asked Ron, looking thunderstruck. "You had to act like Muggles all the way?"

"Well, not exactly all the way," said Hagrid cagily. "We jus' had ter be careful, 'cause Olympe an' me, we stick out a bit —" Ron made a stifled noise somewhere between a snort and a sniff and hastily took a gulp of tea. "— so we're not hard ter follow. We was pretendin' we was goin' on holiday together, so we got inter France an' we made like we was headin' fer where Olympe's school is, 'cause we knew we was bein' tailed by someone from the Ministry. We had to go slow, 'cause I'm not really s'posed ter use magic an' we knew the Ministry'd be lookin' fer a reason ter run us in. But we managed ter give the berk tailin' us the slip round abou' Dee-John —"

"Ooooh, Dijon?" said Hermione excitedly. "I've been there on holiday, did you see — ?" She fell silent at the look on Ron's face.

"We chanced a bit o' magic after that, and it wasn' a bad journey. Ran inter a couple o' mad trolls on the Polish border, an' I had a sligh' disagreement with a vampire in a pub in Minsk, but apart from tha', couldn't'a bin smoother.

"An' then we reached the place, an' we started trekkin' up through the mountains, lookin' fer signs of 'em . . .

"We had ter lay off the magic once we got near 'em. Partly 'cause they don' like wizards an' we didn' want ter put their backs up too soon, and partly 'cause Dumbledore had warned us You-Know-Who was bound ter be after the giants an' all. Said it was odds on he'd sent a messenger off ter them already. Told us ter be very careful of drawin' attention ter ourselves as we got nearer in case there was Death Eaters around." Hagrid paused for a long draft of tea.

"Go on!" said Harry urgently.

"Found 'em," said Hagrid baldly. "Went over a ridge one nigh' an' there they was, spread ou' underneath us. Little fires burnin' below an' huge shadows . . . It was like watchin' bits o' the mountain movin'."

"How big are they?" asked Ron in a hushed voice.

" 'Bout twenty feet," said Hagrid casually. "Some o' the bigger ones mighta bin twenty-five."

"And how many were there?" asked Christina.

"I reckon abou' seventy or eighty," said Hagrid.

"Is that all?" said Hermione.

"Yep," said Hagrid sadly, "eighty left, an' there was loads once, musta bin a hundred diff'rent tribes from all over the world. But they've bin dyin' out fer ages. Wizards killed a few, o' course, but mostly they killed each other, an' now they're dyin' out faster than ever. They're not made ter live bunched up together like tha'. Dumbledore says it's our fault, it was the wizards who forced 'em to go an' made 'em live a good long way from us an' they had no choice but ter stick together fer their own protection."

"So," said Harry, "you saw them and then what?"

"Well, we waited till morning, didn' want ter go sneakin' up on 'em in the dark, fer our own safety," said Hagrid. " 'Bout three in the mornin' they fell asleep jus' where they was sittin'. We didn' dare sleep. Fer one thing, we wanted ter make sure none of 'em woke up an' came up where we were, an' fer another, the snorin' was unbelievable. Caused an avalanche near mornin'.

"Anyway, once it was light we wen' down ter see 'em."

"Just like that?" said Ron, looking awestruck. "You just walked right into a giant camp?"

"Well, Dumbledore'd told us how ter do it," said Hagrid. "Give the Gurg gifts, show some respect, yeh know."

"Give the what gifts?" asked Harry.

"Oh, the Gurg — means the chief."

"How could you tell which one was the Gurg?" asked Ron. Hagrid grunted in amusement.

"No problem," he said. "He was the biggest, the ugliest, an' the laziest. Sittin' there waitin' ter be brought food by the others. Dead goats an' such like. Name o' Karkus. I'd put him at twenty-two, twenty-three feet, an' the weight of a couple o' bull elephants. Skin like rhino hide an' all."

"And you just walked up to him?" said Hermione breathlessly.

"Well . . . down ter him, where he was lyin' in the valley. They was in this dip between four pretty high mountains, see, beside a mountain lake, an' Karkus was lyin' by the lake roarin' at the others ter feed him an' his wife. Olympe an' I went down the mountainside —"

"But didn't they try and kill you when they saw you?" asked Ron incredulously.

"It was def'nitely on some of their minds," said Hagrid, shrugging, "but we did what Dumbledore told us ter do, which was ter hold our gift up high an' keep our eyes on the Gurg an' ignore the others. So tha's what we did. An' the rest of 'em went quiet an' watched us pass an' we got right up ter Karkus's feet an' we bowed an' put our present down in front o' him."

"What do you give a giant?" asked Ron eagerly. "Food?"

"Nah, he can get food all righ' fer himself," said Hagrid. "We took him magic. Giants like magic, jus' don't like us usin' it against 'em. Anyway, that firs' day we gave him a branch o' Gubraithian fire." Hermione said "wow" softly, but Christina, Harry and Ron both frowned in puzzlement.

"A branch of — ?"

"Everlasting fire," said Hermione irritably, "you ought to know that by now, Professor Flitwick's mentioned it at least twice in class!"

"Well anyway," said Hagrid quickly, intervening before Ron could answer back, "Dumbledore'd bewitched this branch to burn evermore, which isn' somethin' any wizard could do, an' so I lies it down in the snow by Karkus's feet and says, 'A gift to the Gurg of the giants from Albus Dumbledore, who sends his respectful greetings.' "

"And what did Karkus say?" asked Harry eagerly.

"Nothin'," said Hagrid. "Didn' speak English."

"You're kidding!" said Christina.

"Didn' matter," said Hagrid imperturbably, "Dumbledore had warned us tha' migh' happen. Karkus knew enough to yell fer a couple o' giants who knew our lingo an' they translated fer us."

"And did he like the present?" asked Ron.

"Oh yeah, it went down a storm once they understood what it was," said Hagrid, turning his dragon steak over to press the cooler side to his swollen eye. "Very pleased. So then I said, 'Albus Dumbledore asks the Gurg to speak with his messenger when he returns tomorrow with another gift.' "

"Why couldn't you speak to them that day?" asked Hermione.

"Dumbledore wanted us ter take it very slow," said Hagrid. "Let 'em see we kept our promises. We'll come back tomorrow with another present, an' then we do come back with another present — gives a good impression, see? An' gives them time ter test out the firs' present an' find out it's a good one, an' get 'em eager fer more. In any case, giants like Karkus — overload 'em with information an' they'll kill yeh jus' to simplify things. So we bowed outta the way an' went off an' found ourselves a nice little cave ter spend that night in, an' the followin' mornin' we went back an' this time we found Karkus sittin' up waitin' fer us lookin' all eager."

"And you talked to him?"

"Oh yeah. Firs' we presented him with a nice battle helmet — goblin-made an' indestructible, yeh know — an' then we sat down an' we talked."

"What did he say?"

"Not much," said Hagrid. "Listened mostly. But there were good signs. He'd heard o' Dumbledore, heard he'd argued against the killin' of the last giants in Britain. Karkus seemed ter be quite int'rested in what Dumbledore had ter say. An' a few o' the others, 'specially the ones who had some English, they gathered round an' listened too. We were hopeful when we left that day. Promised ter come back next day with another present.

"But that night it all wen' wrong."

"What d'you mean?" said Ron quickly.

"Well, like I say, they're not meant ter live together, giants," said Hagrid sadly. "Not in big groups like that. They can' help themselves, they half kill each other every few weeks. The men fight each other an' the women fight each other, the remnants of the old tribes fight each other, an' that's even without squabbles over food an' the best fires an' sleepin' spots. Yeh'd think, seein' as how their whole race is abou' finished, they'd lay off each other, but . . ." Hagrid sighed deeply "That night a fight broke out, we saw it from the mouth of our cave, lookin' down on the valley. Went on fer hours, yeh wouldn' believe the noise. An' when the sun came up the snow was scarlet an' his head was lyin' at the bottom o' the lake."

"Whose head?" gasped Hermione.

"Karkus's," said Hagrid heavily. "There was a new Gurg, Golgomath." He sighed deeply. "Well, we hadn' bargained on a new Gurg two days after we'd made friendly contact with the firs' one, an' we had a funny feelin' Golgomath wouldn' be so keen ter listen to us, but we had ter try."

"You went to speak to him?" asked Ron incredulously. "After you'd watched him rip off another giant's head?"

" 'Course we did," said Hagrid, "we hadn' gone all that way ter give up after two days! We wen' down with the next present we'd meant ter give ter Karkus.

"I knew it was no go before I'd opened me mouth. He was sitting there wearin' Karkus's helmet, leerin' at us as we got nearer. He's massive, one o' the biggest ones there. Black hair an' matchin' teeth an' a necklace o' bones. Human-lookin' bones, some of 'em. Well, I gave it a go — held out a great roll o' dragon skin — an' said A gift fer the Gurg of the giants —' Nex' thing I knew, I was hangin' upside down in the air by me feet, two of his mates had grabbed me." Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth.

"How did you get out of that?" asked Christina.

"Wouldn'ta done if Olympe hadn' bin there," said Hagrid. "She pulled out her wand an' did some o' the fastes' spellwork I've ever seen. Ruddy marvelous. Hit the two holdin' me right in the eyes with Conjunctivitus Curses an' they dropped me straightaway — bu' we were in trouble then, 'cause we'd used magic against 'em, an' that's what giants hate abou' wizards. We had ter leg it an' we knew there was no way we was going ter be able ter march inter camp again."

"Blimey, Hagrid," said Ron quietly. "So how come it's taken you so long to get home if you were only there for three days?" asked Hermione.

"We didn' leave after three days!" said Hagrid, looking outraged. "Dumbledore was relyin' on us!"

"But you've just said there was no way you could go back!"

"Not by daylight, we couldn', no. We just had ter rethink a bit. Spent a couple o' days lyin' low up in the cave an' watchin'. An' wha' we saw wasn' good."

"Did he rip off more heads?" asked Hermione, sounding squeamish.

"No," said Hagrid. "I wish he had."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean we soon found out he didn' object ter all wizards — just us."

"Death Eaters?" said Harry quickly.

"Yep," said Hagrid darkly. "Couple of 'em were visitin' him ev'ry day, bringin' gifts ter the Gurg, an' he wasn' dangling them upside down."

"How d'you know they were Death Eaters?" said Ron.

"Because I recognized one of 'em," Hagrid growled. "Macnair, remember him? Bloke they sent ter kill Buckbeak? Maniac, he is. Likes killin' as much as Golgomath, no wonder they were gettin' on so well."

"So Macnair's persuaded the giants to join You-Know-Who?" said Hermione desperately.

"Hold yer hippogriffs, I haven' finished me story yet!" said Hagrid indignantly, who, considering he had not wanted to tell them anything in the first place, now seemed to be rather enjoying himself. "Me an' Olympe talked it over an' we agreed, jus' 'cause the Gurg looked like favorin' You-Know-Who didn' mean all of 'em would. We had ter try an' persuade some o' the others, the ones who hadn' wanted Golgomath as Gurg."

"How could you tell which ones they were?" asked Ron.

"Well, they were the ones bein' beaten to a pulp, weren' they?" said Hagrid patiently. "The ones with any sense were keepin' outta Golgomath's way, hidin' out in caves roun' the gully jus' like we were. So we decided we'd go pokin' round the caves by night an' see if we couldn' persuade a few o' them."

"You went poking around dark caves looking for giants?" said Ron with awed respect in his voice.

"Well, it wasn' the giants who worried us most," said Hagrid. "We were more concerned abou' the Death Eaters. Dumbledore had told us before we wen' not ter tangle with 'em if we could avoid it, an' the trouble was they knew we was around — 'spect Golgomath told him abou' us. At night when the giants were sleepin' an' we wanted ter be creepin' inter the caves, Macnair an' the other one were sneakin' round the mountains lookin' fer us. I was hard put to stop Olympe jumpin' out at them," said Hagrid, the corners of his mouth lifting his wild beard. "She was rarin' ter attack 'em. . . . she's somethin' when she's roused, Olympe. . . . Fiery, yeh know . . . 'spect it's the French in her . . ." Hagrid gazed misty-eyed into the fire. Harry allowed him thirty seconds' reminiscence before clearing his throat loudly.

"So what happened? Did you ever get near any of the other giants?"

"What? Oh . . . oh yeah, we did. Yeah, on the third night after Karkus was killed, we crept outta the cave we'd bin hidin' in and headed back down inter the gully, keepin' our eyes skinned fer the Death Eaters. Got inside a few o' the caves, no go — then, in abou' the sixth one, we found three giants hidin'."

"Cave must've been cramped," said Ron.

"Wasn' room ter swing a kneazle," said Hagrid.

"Didn't they attack you when they saw you?" asked Hermione.

"Probably woulda done if they'd bin in any condition," said Hagrid, "but they was badly hurt, all three o' them. Golgomath's lot had beaten 'em unconscious; they'd woken up an' crawled inter the nearest shelter they could find. Anyway, one o' them had a bit of English an' 'e translated fer the others, an' what we had ter say didn' seem ter go down too badly. So we kep' goin' back, visitin' the wounded. . . . I reckon we had abou' six or seven o' them convinced at one poin'."

"Six or seven?" said Ron eagerly. "Well that's not bad — are they going to come over here and start fighting You-Know-Who with us?" But Hermione said, "What do you mean 'at one point,' Hagrid?" Hagrid looked at her sadly.

"Golgomath's lot raided the caves. The ones tha' survived didn' wan' no more ter to do with us after that."

"So . . . so there aren't any giants coming?" said Ron, looking disappointed.

"Nope," said Hagrid, heaving a deep sigh as he turned over his steak again and applied the cooler side to his face, "but we did wha' we meant ter do, we gave 'em Dumbledore's message an' some o' them heard it an' I 'spect some o' them'll remember it. Jus' maybe, them that don' want ter stay around Golgomath'll move outta the mountains, an' there's gotta be a chance they'll remember Dumbledore's friendly to 'em. . . . Could be they'll come . . ." Snow was filling up the window now. Christina became aware that the knees of her robes were soaked through; Fang was drooling with his head in Christina's lap.

"Hagrid?" said Hermione quietly after a while.

"Mmm?"

"Did you . . . was there any sign of . . . did you hear anything about your . . . your . . . mother while you were there?" Hagrid's unobscured eye rested upon her, and Hermione looked rather scared.

"I'm sorry . . . I . . . forget it —"

"Dead," Hagrid grunted. "Died years ago. They told me."

"Oh . . . I'm . . . I'm really sorry," said Hermione in a very small voice. Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders.

"No need," he said shortly. "Can' remember her much. Wasn' a great mother." They were silent again. Hermione glanced nervously at Christina, Harry and Ron, plainly wanting them to speak.

"But you still haven't explained how you got in this state, Hagrid," Ron said, gesturing toward Hagrid's bloodstained face.

"Or why you're back so late," said Harry. "Sirius says Madame Maxime got back ages ago —"

"Who attacked you?" said Ron.

"I haven' bin attacked!" said Hagrid emphatically. "I —" But the rest of his words were drowned in a sudden outbreak of rapping on the door. Hermione gasped; her mug slipped through her fingers and smashed on the floor; Fang yelped. All five of them stared at the window beside the doorway. The shadow of somebody small and squat rippled across the thin curtain.

"It's her!" Ron whispered.

"Get under here!" Harry said quickly; seizing the Invisibility Cloak but Christina had already disassembled into dust and was hiding in a corner. Harry, Ron and Hermione ducked under he cloak. Fang was barking madly at the door. Hagrid looked thoroughly confused.

"Hagrid, hide our mugs!" Hagrid seized Christina's, Harry's and Ron's mugs and shoved them under the cushion in Fang's basket. Fang was now leaping up at the door; Hagrid pushed him out of the way with his foot and pulled it open. Professor Umbridge was standing in the doorway wearing her green tweed cloak and a matching hat with earflaps. Lips pursed, she leaned back so as to see Hagrid's face; she barely reached his navel.

"So," she said slowly and loudly, as though speaking to somebody deaf. "You're Hagrid, are you?" Without waiting for an answer she strolled into the room, her bulging eyes rolling in every direction. "Get away," she snapped, waving her handbag at Fang, who had bounded up to her and was attempting to lick her face.

"Er — I don' want ter be rude," said Hagrid, staring at her, "but who the ruddy hell are you?"

"My name is Dolores Umbridge." Her eyes were sweeping the cabin. Twice they stared directly into the corner where Harry stood, sandwiched between Ron and Hermione.

"Dolores Umbridge?" Hagrid said, sounding thoroughly confused. "I thought you were one o' them Ministry — don' you work with Fudge?"

"I was Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, yes," said Umbridge, now pacing around the cabin, taking in every tiny detail within, from the haversack against the wall to the abandoned traveling cloak. "I am now the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher —"

"Tha's brave of yeh," said Hagrid, "there's not many'd take tha' job anymore —"

"— and Hogwarts High Inquisitor," said Umbridge, giving no sign that she had heard him.

"Wha's that?" said Hagrid, frowning.

"Precisely what I was going to ask," said Umbridge, pointing at the broken shards of china on the floor that had been Hermione's mug.

"Oh," said Hagrid, with a most unhelpful glance toward the corner where Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood hidden, "oh, tha' was . . . was Fang. He broke a mug. So I had ter use this one instead." Hagrid pointed to the mug from which he had been drinking, one hand still clamped over the dragon steak pressed to his eye. Umbridge stood facing him now, taking in every detail of his appearance instead of the cabin's.

"I heard voices," she said quietly.

"I was talkin' ter Fang," said Hagrid stoutly.

"And was he talking back to you?"

"Well . . . in a manner o' speakin'," said Hagrid, looking uncomfortable. "I sometimes say Fang's near enough human —"

"There are four sets of footprints in the snow leading from the castle doors to your cabin," said Umbridge sleekly. Christina heard Hermione gasp. Luckily, Fang was sniffing loudly around the hem of Professor Umbridge's robes, and she did not appear to have heard.

"Well, I on'y jus' got back," said Hagrid, waving an enormous hand at the haversack. "Maybe someone came ter call earlier an' I missed em.

"There are no footsteps leading away from your cabin door."

"Well I . . . I don' know why that'd be. . . ." said Hagrid, tugging nervously at his beard and again glancing toward the corner where Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood, as though asking for help. "Erm . . ."

Umbridge wheeled around and strode the length of the cabin, looking around carefully. She bent and peered under the bed. She opened Hagrid's cupboards. She passed within two inches of where Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood pressed against the wall; Harry actually pulled in his stomach as she walked by. After looking carefully inside the enormous cauldron Hagrid used for cooking she wheeled around again and said, "What has happened to you? How did you sustain those injuries?" Hagrid hastily removed the dragon steak from his face, which in Harry's opinion was a mistake, because the black-and-purple bruising all around his eye was now clearly visible, not to mention the large amount of fresh and congealed blood on his face.

"Oh, I . . . had a bit of an accident," he said lamely.

"What sort of accident?"

"I-I tripped."

"You tripped," she repeated coolly.

"Yeah, tha's right. Over . . . over a friends broomstick. I don' fly, meself. Well, look at the size o' me, I don' reckon there's a broomstick that'd hold me. Friend o' mine breeds Abraxan horses, I dunno if you've ever seen 'em, big beasts, winged, yeh know, I've had a bit of a ride on one o' them an' it was —"

"Where have you been?" asked Umbridge, cutting coolly through Hagrid's babbling.

"Where've I . . . ?"

"Been, yes," she said. "Term started more than two months ago. Another teacher has had to cover your classes. None of your colleagues has been able to give me any information as to your whereabouts. You left no address. Where have you been?" There was a pause in which Hagrid stared at her with his newly uncovered eye. Christina could almost hear his brain working furiously.

"I — I've been away for me health," he said.

"For your health," said Umbridge. Her eyes traveled over Hagrid's discolored and swollen face; dragon blood dripped gently onto his waistcoat in the silence. "I see."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "bit o' — o' fresh air, yeh know —"

"Yes, as gamekeeper fresh air must be so difficult to come by," said Umbridge sweetly. The small patch of Hagrid's face that was not black or purple flushed.

"Well — change o' scene, yeh know —"

"Mountain scenery?" said Umbridge swiftly. She knows, Christina thought desperately.

"Mountains?" Hagrid repeated, clearly thinking fast. "Nope, South of France fer me. Bit o' sun an' . . . an' sea."

"Really?" said Umbridge. "You don't have much of a tan."

"Yeah . . . well . . . sensitive skin," said Hagrid, attempting an ingratiating smile. Christina noticed that two of his teeth had been knocked out. Umbridge looked at him coldly; his smile faltered. Then she hoisted her handbag a little higher into the crook of her arm and said, "I shall, of course, be informing the Minister of your late return."

"Righ'," said Hagrid, nodding.

"You ought to know too that as High Inquisitor it is my unfortunate but necessary duty to inspect my fellow teachers. So I daresay we shall meet again soon enough." She turned sharply and marched back to the door.

"You're inspectin' us?" Hagrid echoed blankly, looking after her.

"Oh yes," said Umbridge softly, looking back at him with her hand on the door handle. "The Ministry is determined to weed out unsatisfactory teachers, Hagrid. Good night." She left, closing the door behind her with a snap.

Hagrid stumped across the room and pulled back the curtain an inch or so. "She's goin' back ter the castle," he said in a low voice. "Blimey . . . inspectin' people, is she?"

"Yeah," said Harry, pulling the cloak off. Christina put herself back together and reappeared to the group. "Trelawney's on probation already. . . ."

"Um . . . what sort of thing are you planning to do with us in class, Hagrid?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, don' you worry abou' that, I've got a great load o' lessons planned," said Hagrid enthusiastically, scooping up his dragon steak from the table and slapping it over his eye again. "I've bin keepin' a couple o' creatures saved fer yer O.W.L. year, you wait, they're somethin' really special."

"Erm . . . special in what way?" asked Hermione tentatively.

"I'm not sayin'," said Hagrid happily. "I don' want ter spoil the surprise."

"Look, Hagrid," said Hermione urgently, dropping all pretense, "Professor Umbridge won't be at all happy if you bring anything to class that's too dangerous —"

"Dangerous?" said Hagrid, looking genially bemused. "Don' be silly, I wouldn' give yeh anythin' dangerous! I mean, all righ', they can look after themselves —"

"Hagrid, you've got to pass Umbridge's inspection, and to do that it would really be better if she saw you teaching us how to look after porlocks, how to tell the difference between knarls and hedgehogs, stuff like that!" said Hermione earnestly.

"But tha's not very interestin', Hermione," said Hagrid. "The stuff I've got's much more impressive, I've bin bringin' 'em on fer years, I reckon I've got the on'y domestic herd in Britain —"

"Hagrid . . . please . . ." said Hermione, a note of real desperation in her voice. "Umbridge is looking for any excuse to get rid of teachers she thinks are too close to Dumbledore. Please, Hagrid, teach us something dull that's bound to come up in our O.W.L. . . ." But Hagrid merely yawned widely and cast a one-eyed look of longing toward the vast bed in the corner.

"Lis'en, it's bin a long day an' it's late," he said, patting Hermione gently on the shoulder, so that her knees gave way and hit the floor with a thud. "Oh — sorry —" He pulled her back up by the neck of her robes. "Look, don' you go worryin' abou' me, I promise yeh I've got really good stuff planned fer yer lessons now I'm back. . . . Now you lot had better get back up to the castle, an' don' forget ter wipe yer footprints out behind yeh!"

"I dunno if you got through to him," said Ron a short while later when, having checked that the coast was clear, they walked back up to the castle through the thickening snow, leaving no trace behind them due to the Obliteration Charm Hermione was performing as they went.

"Then I'll go back again tomorrow," said Hermione determinedly. "I'll plan his lessons for him if I have to. I don't care if she throws out Trelawney but she's not taking Hagrid!"


	20. Chapter 20: The Dream

Hermione plowed her way back to Hagrid's cabin through two feet of snow on Sunday morning. Christina spent the day with Fred and George while Harry and Ron completed their mountain of homework grudgingly in the common room.

It was a fun day, one Christina hadn't had in a long time; they went skating on the frozen lake, tobogganing, snowball fights, they even bewitched a few to hit the Gryffindor common room window and saw a spot of ginger hair pop it's head out angrily.

"Oy!" bellowed Ron, finally losing patience, "I am a prefect and if one more snowball hits this window — OUCH!" George sent up another snowball his way and Ron was gone. She laughed and jumped on Fred's back as they trudged through the snow and back to the Great Hall for soup and crackers.

Hagrid's reappearance at the staff table at breakfast next day was not greeted by enthusiasm from all students. Some, like Fred, George, and Lee, roared with delight and sprinted up the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables to wring Hagrid's enormous hand; others, like Parvati and Lavender, exchanged gloomy looks and shook their heads. Christina knew that many of them preferred Professor Grubbly-Plank's lessons, and the worst of it was that a very small, unbiased part of her knew that they had good reason: Grubbly-Plank's idea of an interesting class was not one where there was a risk that somebody might have their head ripped off. It was with a certain amount of apprehension that Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed down to Hagrid's on Tuesday, heavily muffled against the cold. Christina was worried, not only about what Hagrid might have decided to teach them, but also about how the rest of the class, particularly Malfoy and his cronies, would behave if Umbridge was watching them. However, the High Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen as they struggled through the snow toward Hagrid, who stood waiting for them on the edge of the forest. He did not present a reassuring sight; the bruises that had been purple on Saturday night were now tinged with green and yellow and some of his cuts still seemed to be bleeding. Christina could not understand this: Had Hagrid perhaps been attacked by some creature whose venom prevented the wounds it inflicted from healing? As though to complete the ominous picture, Hagrid was carrying what looked like half a dead cow over his shoulder.

"We're workin' in here today!" Hagrid called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him. "Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark. . . ."

"What prefers the dark?" Christina heard Malfoy say sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. "What did he say prefers the dark — did you hear?" She smiled to herself; after the Quidditch match anything that caused Malfoy discomfort was all right with her.

"Ready?" said Hagrid happily, looking around at the class. "Right, well, I've bin savin' a trip inter the forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em —"

"And you're sure they're trained, are you?" said Malfoy, the panic in his voice even more pronounced now. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?" The Slytherins murmured agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Malfoy had a fair point too.

" 'Course they're trained," said Hagrid, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

"So what happened to your face, then?" demanded Malfoy.

"Mind yer own business!" said Hagrid, angrily. "Now if yeh've finished askin' stupid questions, follow me!" He turned and strode straight into the forest. Nobody seemed much disposed to follow. Christina glanced at Harry, Ron and Hermione, who sighed but nodded, and the four of them set off after Hagrid, leading the rest of the class. They walked for about ten minutes until they reached a place where the trees stood so closely together that it was as dark as twilight and there was no snow on the ground at all. Hagrid deposited his half a cow with a grunt on the ground, stepped back, and turned to face his class again, most of whom were creeping toward him from tree to tree, peering around nervously as though expecting to be set upon at any moment.

"Gather roun', gather roun'," said Hagrid encouragingly. "Now, they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat but I'm goin' ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me. . . ." He turned, shook his shaggy head to get the hair out of his face, and gave an odd, shrieking cry that echoed through the dark trees like the call of some monstrous bird. Nobody laughed; most of them looked too scared to make a sound. Hagrid gave the shrieking cry again. A minute passed in which the class continued to peer nervously over their shoulders and around trees for a first glimpse of whatever it was that was coming. And then, as Hagrid shook his hair back for a third time and expanded his enormous chest, Harry nudged Ron and pointed into the black space between two gnarled yew trees. A pair of blank, white, shining eyes were growing larger through the gloom and a moment later the dragonish face, neck, and then skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse emerged from the dark ness. It looked around at the class for a few seconds, swishing its long black tail, then bowed its head and began to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs. A great wave of relief broke over Christina. Here at last was proof that she had not imagined these creatures, that they were real: Hagrid knew about them too. She looked eagerly at Harry, Hermione and Ron, but Ron was still staring around into the trees and after a few seconds he whispered, "Why doesn't Hagrid call again?" Most of the rest of the class were wearing expressions as confused and nervously expectant as Ron's and were still gazing everywhere but at the horse standing feet from them. There were only two other people who seemed to be able to see them: a stringy Slytherin boy standing just behind Goyle was watching the horse eating with an expression of great distaste on his face, and Neville, whose eyes were following the swishing progress of the long black tail.

"Oh, an' here comes another one!" said Hagrid proudly, as a second black horse appeared out of the dark trees, folded its leathery wings closer to its body, and dipped its head to gorge on the meat. "Now . . . put yer hands up, who can see 'em?" Immensely pleased to feel that she was at last going to understand the mystery of these horses, Christina raised her hand, Harry did too. Hagrid nodded at them. "Yeah . . . yeah, I knew you two'd be able ter," he said seriously. "An' you too, Neville, eh? An' —"

"Excuse me," said Malfoy in a sneering voice, "but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?" For answer, Hagrid pointed at the cow carcass on the ground. The whole class stared at it for a few seconds, then several people gasped and Parvati squealed. Christina understood why: Bits of flesh stripping themselves away from the bones and vanishing into thin air had to look very odd indeed.

"What's doing it?" Parvati demanded in a terrified voice, retreating behind the nearest tree. "What's eating it?"

"Thestrals," said Hagrid proudly and Hermione gave a soft "oh!" of comprehension at Christina's shoulder. "Hogwarts has got a whole herd of 'em in here. Now, who knows — ?"

"But they're really, really unlucky!" interrupted Parvati, looking alarmed. "They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once —"

"No, no, no," said Hagrid, chuckling, "tha's jus' superstition, that is, they aren' unlucky, they're dead clever an' useful! 'Course, this lot don' get a lot o' work, it's mainly jus' pullin' the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin' a long journey an' don' want ter Apparate — an' here's another couple, look —" Two more horses came quietly out of the trees, one of them passing very close to Parvati, who shivered and pressed herself closer to the tree, saying, "I think I felt something, I think it's near me!"

"Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh," said Hagrid patiently. "Righ', now, who can tell me why some o' you can see them an' some can't?" Hermione raised her hand.

"Go on then," said Hagrid, beaming at her.

"The only people who can see thestrals," she said, "are people who have seen death."

"Tha's exactly right," said Hagrid solemnly, "ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, thestrals —"

"Hem, hem." Professor Umbridge had arrived. She was standing a few feet away from Christina, wearing her green hat and cloak again, her clipboard at the ready. Hagrid, who had never heard Umbridge's fake cough before, was gazing in some concern at the closest thestral, evidently under the impression that it had made the sound. "Hem, hem."

"Oh hello!" Hagrid said, smiling, having located the source of the noise. "You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?" said Umbridge, in the same loud, slow voice she had used with him earlier, as though she was addressing somebody both foreign and very slow. "Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?"

"Oh yeah," said Hagrid brightly. "Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see — or, I dunno — can you? We're doin' thestrals today —"

"I'm sorry?" said Umbridge loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning. "What did you say?" Hagrid looked a little confused.

"Er — thestrals!" he said loudly. "Big — er — winged horses, yeh know!" He flapped his gigantic arms hopefully. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows at him and muttered as she made a note on her clipboard, " 'has . . . to . . . resort . . . to . . . crude . . . sign . . . language . . .' "

"Well . . . anyway . . ." said Hagrid, turning back to the class and looking slightly flustered. "Erm . . . what was I sayin'?"

" 'Appears . . . to . . . have . . . poor . . . short . . . term . . . memory . . .' " muttered Umbridge, loudly enough for everyone to hear her. Draco Malfoy looked as though Christmas had come a month early; Hermione, on the other hand, had turned scarlet with suppressed rage.

"Oh yeah," said Hagrid, throwing an uneasy glance at Umbridge's clipboard, but plowing on valiantly. "Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an' five females. This one," he patted the first horse to have appeared, "name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favorite, firs' one born here in the forest —"

"Are you aware," Umbridge said loudly, interrupting him, "that the Ministry of Magic has classified thestrals as 'dangerous'?" Christina's heart sank like a stone, but Hagrid merely chuckled.

"Thestrals aren' dangerous! All righ, they might take a bite outta you if yeh really annoy them —"

" 'Shows . . . signs . . . of . . . pleasure . . . at . . . idea . . . of . . . violence . . . ' " muttered Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard again.

"No — come on!" said Hagrid, looking a little anxious now. "I mean, a dog'll bite if yeh bait it, won' it — but thestrals have jus' got a bad reputation because o' the death thing — people used ter think they were bad omens, didn' they? Jus' didn' understand, did they?" Umbridge did not answer; she finished writing her last note, then looked up at Hagrid and said, again very loudly and slowly, "Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk" — she mimed walking — Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were having silent fits of laughter — "among the students" — she pointed around at individual members of the class — "and ask them questions." She pointed at her mouth to indicate talking. Hagrid stared at her, clearly at a complete loss to understand why she was acting as though he did not understand normal English. Hermione had tears of fury in her eyes now.

"You hag, you evil hag!" she whispered, as Umbridge walked toward Pansy Parkinson. "I know what you're doing, you awful, twisted, vicious —"

"Erm . . . anyway," said Hagrid, clearly struggling to regain the flow of his lesson, "so — thestrals. Yeah. Well, there's loads o' good stuff abou' them. . . ."

"Do you find," said Professor Umbridge in a ringing voice to Pansy Parkinson, "that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?" Just like Hermione, Pansy had tears in her eyes, but these were tears of laughter; indeed, her answer was almost incoherent because she was trying to suppress her giggles.

"No . . . because . . . well . . . it sounds . . . like grunting a lot of the time. . . ." Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. The few unbruised bits of Hagrid's face flushed, but he tried to act as though he had not heard Pansy's answer.

"Er . . . yeah . . . good stuff abou' thestrals. Well, once they're tamed, like this lot, yeh'll never be lost again. 'Mazin' senses o' direction, jus' tell 'em where yeh want ter go —"

"Assuming they can understand you, of course," said Malfoy loudly, and Pansy Parkinson collapsed in a fit of renewed giggles. Professor Umbridge smiled indulgently at them and then turned to Neville.

"You can see the thestrals, Longbottom, can you?" she said. Neville nodded. "Whom did you see die?" she asked, her tone indifferent.

"My . . . my grandad," said Neville.

"And what do you think of them?" she said, waving her stubby hand at the horses, who by now had stripped a great deal of the carcass down to bone.

"Erm," said Neville nervously, with a glance at Hagrid. "Well, they're . . . er . . . okay. . . ."

" 'Students . . . are . . . too . . . intimidated . . . to . . . admit . . . they . . . are . . . frightened. . . .' " muttered Umbridge, making another note on her clipboard.

"No!" said Neville, looking upset, "no, I'm not scared of them — !"

"It's quite all right," said Umbridge, patting Neville on the shoulder with what she evidently intended to be an understanding smile, though it looked more like a leer to Christina.

"Well, Hagrid," she turned to look up at him again, speaking once more in that loud, slow voice, "I think I've got enough to be getting along with. . . . You will receive" — she mimed taking something from the air in front of her — "the results of your inspection" — she pointed at the clipboard — "in ten days' time." She held up ten stubby little fingers, then, her smile wider and more toadlike than ever before beneath her green hat, she bustled from their midst, leaving Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson in fits of laughter, Hermione actually shaking with fury, and Neville looking confused and upset.

"That foul, lying, twisting old gargoyle!" stormed Hermione half an hour later, as they made their way back up to the castle through the channels they had made earlier in the snow. "You see what she's up to? It's her thing about half-breeds all over again — she's trying to make out Hagrid's some kind of dim-witted troll, just because he had a giantess for a mother — and oh, it's not fair, that really wasn't a bad lesson at all — I mean, all right, if it had been Blast-Ended Skrewts again, but thestrals are fine — in fact, for Hagrid, they're really good!"

"Umbridge said they're dangerous," said Ron.

"Well, it's like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves," said Hermione impatiently, "and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn't usually show them to us before N.E.W.T. level, but, well, they are very interesting, aren't they? The way some people can see them and some can't! I wish I could."

"Do you though?" Christina asked her, looking at her sideways. She looked horrorstruck.

"Oh Christina — I'm sorry — no, of course I don't — that was a really stupid thing to say —"

"It's okay," she said quickly, "don't worry. . . ."

"I'm surprised so many people could see them," said Ron. "Three in a class —"

"Yeah, Weasley, we were just wondering," said a malicious voice nearby. Unheard by any of them in the muffling snow, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were walking along right behind them. "D'you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?" He, Crabbe, and Goyle roared with laughter as they pushed past on their way to the castle and then broke into a chorus of "Weasley Is Our King." Ron's ears turned scarlet.

"Ignore them, just ignore them," intoned Hermione, pulling out her wand and performing the charm to produce hot air again, so that she could melt them an easier path through the untouched snow between them and the greenhouses.

December arrived, bringing with it more snow and a positive avalanche of homework for the fifth years. Ron and Hermione's prefect duties also became more and more onerous as Christmas approached. They were called upon to supervise the decoration of the castle ("You try putting up tinsel when Peeves has got the other end and is trying to strangle you with it," said Ron), to watch over first and second years spending their break times inside because of the bitter cold ("And they're cheeky little snotrags, you know, we definitely weren't that rude when we were in first year," said Ron), and to patrol the corridors in shifts with Argus Filch, who suspected that the holiday spirit might show itself in an outbreak of wizard duels ("He's got dung for brains, that one," said Ron furiously). They were so busy that Hermione had stopped knitting elf hats and was fretting that she was down to her last three.

"All those poor elves I haven't set free yet, having to stay over during Christmas because there aren't enough hats!" In any case, she did not want to think about Christmas. For the first time in her school career, she very much wanted to spend the holidays away from Hogwarts. Between her Quidditch ban and worry about whether or not Hagrid was going to be put on probation, she felt highly resentful toward the place at the moment. The only thing she really looked forward to were the D.A. meetings, and they would have to stop over the holidays, as nearly everybody in the D.A. would be spending the time with their families. Hermione was going skiing with her parents, something that greatly amused Ron, who had never before heard of Muggles strapping narrow strips of wood to their feet to slide down mountains. Ron, meanwhile, was going home to the Burrow and Harry was stuck at Hogwarts as well. Christina endured several days of jealousy before Fred said, in response to Christina asking how Fred was going to get home for Christmas, "But you're coming too! Didn't I say? Mum wrote and told me to invite you weeks ago!" Christina's spirits soared: The thought of Christmas at the Burrow was truly wonderful, only slightly marred by Christina's guilty feeling that Harry had to spend it alone. This was her thought, until moments later when Fred interjected that Harry was invited as well.

Christina arrived to the Room of Requirement slightly early for the last D.A. meeting before the holidays and saw Harry tearing down decorations of his face and a banner that read "HAVE A VERY HARRY CHRISTIMAS!"

"Don't tell me Malfoy got in here!" she said nervously, looking around at what remained of the decorations. Harry whipped around, surprised by the company.

"God no," said Harry, "it was Dobby the house-elf."

"Oh thank God" said Christina in relief, ignoring the mistletoe over Harry's head. Just then Luna stumbled in and was also peering at the berries above his head. Harry looked up and jumped out of the way, fearful of a kiss from Looney Luna Lovegood.

"Good thinking," said Luna very seriously. "It's often infested with nargles." Christina was saved the necessity of asking what nargles were by the arrival of Angelina, Katie, and Alicia. All three of them were breathless and looked very cold.

"Well," said Angelina dully, pulling off her cloak and throwing it into a corner, "we've replaced you."

"Replaced me?" said Harry blankly.

"You, Christina, and Fred and George," she said impatiently. "We've got another Seeker!"

"Who?" said Harry quickly.

"Ginny Weasley," said Katie. Christina and Harry gaped at her.

"Yeah, I know," said Angelina, pulling out her wand and flexing her arm. "But she's pretty good, actually. Nothing on you, of course," she said, throwing him a very dirty look, "but as we can't have you . . ."

"And what about me and the Beaters?" Christina asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"Michael Catinsch, Andrew Kirke," said Alicia without enthusiasm, "and Jack Sloper. None of them are brilliant, but compared with the rest of the idiots who turned up . . ." The arrival of Ron, Hermione, and Neville brought this depressing discussion to an end and within five minutes, the room was full enough to prevent her seeing Angelina's burning, reproachful looks.

"Okay," Christina said, calling them all to order. "I thought this evening we should just go over the things we've done so far, because it's the last meeting before the holidays and there's no point starting anything new right before a three-week break —"

"We're not doing anything new?" said Zacharias Smith, in a disgruntled whisper loud enough to carry through the room. "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come. . . ."

"We're all really sorry Christina didn't tell you, then," said Fred loudly. Several people sniggered.

"We can practice in pairs," said Harry. "We'll start with the Impediment Jinx, just for ten minutes, then we can get out the cushions and try Stunning again." They all divided up obediently; Harry partnered Neville as usual and Christina walked the room. The room was soon full of intermittent cries of "Impedimenta!" People froze for a minute or so, during which their partners would stare aimlessly around the room watching other pairs at work, then would unfreeze and take their turn at the jinx. Neville had improved beyond all recognition. After a while, Harry had unfrozen three times in a row. After ten minutes on the Impediment Jinx, they laid out cushions all over the floor and started practicing Stunning again, Christina paired with Neville and Harry walked the space. He was really getting quite good.

The space was really too confined to allow them all to work this spell at once; half the group observed the others for a while, then swapped over. Christina felt herself positively swelling with pride as she watched them all. True, Neville did Stun Padma Patil rather than Dean, at whom he had been aiming, but it was a much closer miss than usual, and everybody else had made enormous progress. At the end of an hour, Harry called a halt.

"You're getting really good," he said, beaming around at them. "When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff — maybe even Patronuses." There was a murmur of excitement. The room began to clear in the usual twos and threes; most people wished Christina and Harry a Happy Christmas as they went. Christina helped Harry put away the cushions when Hermione took her by the arm and eyed Harry and Cho in the corner. With a ding of realization, Christina left with Ron and Hermione, leaving Harry and Cho alone.

Christina, Hermione and Ron in the best seats by the fire; nearly everybody else had gone to bed. Hermione was set off to write a very long letter; Ron was lying on the hearthrug, trying to finish his Transfiguration homework, and Christina was writing more ridiculous lies of dreams for her dream oracle. Harry returned to the common room half an hour later.

"What kept you?" Ron asked, as Harry sank into the armchair next to Hermione's. Harry did not answer. He seemed to be in a state of shock.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked, peering at him over the tip of her quill. Harry gave a halfhearted shrug.

"What's up?" said Christina, now worried he wasn't spending a nice time with Cho, "What's happened?"

"Is it Cho?" she asked in a businesslike way. "Did she corner you after the meeting?" Harry nodded. Ron sniggered, breaking off when Hermione caught his eye.

"So — er — what did she want?" he asked in a mock casual voice.

"She —" Harry began, rather hoarsely; he cleared his throat and tried again. "She — er —"

"Did you kiss?" asked Hermione briskly. Ron sat up so fast that he sent his ink bottle flying all over the rug. Disregarding this completely he stared avidly at Harry.

"Well?" he demanded. Christina grinned as she watched Harry struggle with words. Harry looked from Ron's expression of mingled curiosity and hilarity to Hermione's slight frown, and nodded.

"HA!" Ron made a triumphant gesture with his fist and went into a raucous peal of laughter that made several timid-looking second years over beside the window jump. A reluctant grin spread over Harry's face as he watched Ron rolling around on the hearthrug. Hermione gave Ron a look of deep disgust and returned to her letter.

"Well?" Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. "How was it?"

"Wet," he said truthfully. Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell. "Because she was crying," Harry continued heavily and Christina let out a squeak "What?!"

"Oh," said Ron, his smile fading slightly. "Are you that bad at kissing?"

"Dunno," said Harry, who hadn't considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. "Maybe I am."

"Of course you're not," said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter.

"How do you know?" said Ron in a sharp voice.

"Because Cho spends half her time crying these days," said Hermione vaguely. "She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place."

"You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up," said Ron, grinning, Christina laughed.

"Ron," said Hermione in a dignified voice, dipping the point of her quill into her ink pot, "you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Ron indignantly. "What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?"

"Yeah," said Harry, slightly desperately, "who does?" Hermione looked at the pair of them with an almost pitying expression on her face.

"Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?" she asked.

"No," said Harry and Ron together. Hermione sighed and laid down her quill.

"Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings toward Harry are anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly." A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode."

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again.

"She was the one who started it," said Harry. "I wouldn't've — she just sort of came at me — and next thing she's crying all over me — I didn't know what to do —"

"Don't blame you, mate," said Ron, looking alarmed at the very thought.

"You just had to be nice to her," said Hermione, looking up anxiously. "You were, weren't you?"

"Well," said Harry, an unpleasant heat creeping up his face, "I sort of — patted her on the back a bit." Hermione looked as though she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes with extreme difficulty.

"Well, I suppose it could have been worse," Christina said clenching her jaw. "Are you going to see her again?"

"I'll have to, won't I?" said Harry. "We've got D.A. meetings, haven't we?"

"You know what I mean," said Christina impatiently. Harry said nothing.

"Oh well," said Hermione distantly, buried in her letter once more, "you'll have plenty of opportunities to ask her. . . ."

"What if he doesn't want to ask her?" said Ron, who had been watching Harry with an unusually shrewd expression on his face.

"Don't be silly," said Hermione vaguely, "Harry's liked her for ages, haven't you, Harry?" He did not answer.

"Who're you writing the novel to anyway?" Ron asked Hermione, trying to read the bit of parchment now trailing on the floor. Hermione hitched it up out of sight. "Viktor."

"Krum?"

"How many other Viktors do we know?" Christina said, Ron said nothing, but looked disgruntled. They sat in silence for another twenty minutes, Ron finishing his Transfiguration essay with many snorts of impatience and crossings-out, Hermione writing steadily to the very end of the parchment, rolling it up carefully and sealing it, and Harry staring into the fire, until the red-hot embers crumbled into ash and, looking around, Harry saw that they were, yet again, the last in the common room.

"Well, 'night," said Christina, yawning widely, and she set off up the girls' staircase, Hermione followed swiftly behind. Right when the door closed Christina looked to Hermione and smiled, "Bout' time." They both laughed.

Christina dreamed she was back in the D.A. room. Harry and Cho were in the corner and Christina quickly rushed to a table where her wand lay and Cho made the falsely sweet cough Umbridge did and Christina turned around to see blood all around her mouth. Harry in her hands with his lips missing. . . The dream changed. . . . Her body felt smooth, powerful, and flexible. She was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone. . . . She was flat against the floor, sliding along on her stomach. . . .This was wrong. . .a twang of pain hit her head and she kept moving. . . It was dark, yet she could see objects around her shimmering in strange, vibrant colors. . . . She was turning her head. . . . At first glance, the corridor was empty . . . but no . . . a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping onto his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark. . . . Without realizing it her tongue was out. . . . She tasted the man's scent on the air. . . . He was alive but drowsing . . . sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor . . . Half of her longed to bite the man the other just wanted to leave . . . she must master the impulse. . . . She had more important work to do. . . . But the man was stirring . . . a silvery cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Christina saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above her, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt. . . . She had no choice. . . . She reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging her fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath her jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood. . . . The man was yelling in pain . . . then he fell silent. . . . He slumped backward against the wall. . . . Blood was splattering onto the floor. . . . Her hand hurt terribly. . . . It was aching fit to burst. . . .

"Christina! CHRISTINA!" She opened her eyes. Every inch of her body was covered in icy sweat; her bedcovers were twisted all around her like a straitjacket; she felt as though a white-hot poker was being applied to her right hand.

"Christina!" Hermione was standing over her looking extremely frightened. There were more figures at the foot of Christina's bed. She her hand into a fist; the pain was blinding her. . . . She leaped off the bed and vomited in a wastebasket.

"She's really ill," said a scared voice. "Should we call someone?"

"Christina! Christina!" She had to tell Hermione, it was very important that she tell her. . . . Taking great gulps of air, Christina grabbed Hermione by the wrist and threw her out of the room, "I'll take her to the hospital wing" said Hermione as she tried to gain her footing while being pushed out of the room. The door shut behind her.

"Mr. Weasley" Christina panted, her chest heaving. "He's . . . dead. . . ."

"Was this in your dream?" said Hermione slowly.

"Wasn't a dream, he was bitten, I think he's died. . . it's serious, there was blood everywhere. . . ." the 5th year boys' dormitory door opened,

"I'm going for help," said Neville and he bumped right into Hermione and Christina. They peered into the room just before the door closed, "Harry's sick, says Ron's dad got attacked. . ." Hermione and Christina shared the same look and went with Neville down the stairs but Hermione put a hand up, stopping Christina.

"Stay here, drink some water, we're getting Professor McGonagall" Hermione said. Christina did not argue, the pain in her hand had only grown and so she sat by the fire trying to push the image of a bloodied Arthur Weasley.

Whether one minute passed or ten, Christina did not know; she simply sat there shaking, feeling the pain recede very slowly from her scar. . . . Then there were hurried footsteps coming from behind the portrait hole, and she heard Neville's voice again.

"Over here, Professor . . ." Professor McGonagall came hurrying into the common room in her tartan dressing gown, her glasses perched lopsidedly on the bridge of her bony nose.

"What is it, Bataskill? Where does it hurt?" She had never been so pleased to see her; it was a member of the Order of the Phoenix she needed now, not someone fussing over her and prescribing useless potions.

"It's Mr. Weasley," she said, sitting up again. "He's been attacked by a snake and I don't know if he made it.. .I saw it happen."

"What do you mean, you saw it happen?" said Professor McGonagall, her dark eyebrows contracting.

"I don't know. . . . I was asleep and then I was there. . . ."

"You mean you dreamed this?"

"No!" said Christina angrily. Would none of them understand? "I was having a dream at first about something completely different, something stupid . . . and then this interrupted it. It was real, I didn't imagine it, Mr. Weasley was asleep on the floor and he was attacked by a gigantic snake, there was a load of blood, he collapsed, someone's got to find out where he is. . . ." Professor McGonagall was gazing at her through her lopsided spectacles as though horrified at what she was seeing.

"I'm not lying, and I'm not mad!" Christina said, her voice rising. "I tell you, I saw it happen!"

"Harry had the same dream!" said Neville in a worried voice.

"I believe you, Bataskill," said Professor McGonagall curtly. "Put on your dressing-gown, Longbottom get Potter — we're going to see the headmaster."


	21. Chapter 21: Syrup

Christina was so relieved that she was taking her seriously that she did not hesitate, but jumped off the couch while Neville ran up the stairs for Harry. The second she saw Harry she knew he had just gone through what she had, he was in his pajamas covered in vomit and too was drenched in sweat.

"Get Weasley too Potter, he ought to come" said Professor McGonagall. Hermione motioned to go with them but Professor McGonagall stopped her, "Ms. Granger we don't need to make this an expedition, please, back to your dormitory." Hermione politely nodded and gave Christina, Harry, and Ron one last fretful look before they turned for the portrait hole.

Christina felt as though the panic inside her might spill over at any moment; she wanted to run, to yell for Dumbledore. Mr. Weasley was bleeding, possibly already dead, as they walked along so sedately, and what if those fangs (Christina tried hard not to think "my fangs") had been poisonous? They passed Mrs. Norris, who turned her lamplike eyes upon them and hissed faintly, but Professor McGonagall said, "Shoo!" Mrs. Norris slunk away into the shadows, and in a few minutes they had reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Fizzing Whizbee," said Professor McGonagall. The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it split in two to reveal a stone staircase that was moving continuously upward like a spiral escalator. The four of them stepped onto the moving stairs; the wall closed behind them with a thud, and they were moving upward in tight circles until they reached the highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin. Though it was now well past midnight, there were voices coming from inside the room, a positive babble of them. It sounded as though Dumbledore was entertaining at least a dozen people. Professor McGonagall rapped three times with the griffin knocker, and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and Professor McGonagall led Christina, Harry and Ron inside. The moment she stepped foot inside her entire body retched and she fought through the pain to move forward. She looked to Harry who seemed impossibly fine. . .was this just her? She still couldn't get over the shock of the whole incident, Christina normally protected herself with her natural powers from pain but she recently found out that while she slept her body became wholly vulnerable.

The room was in half darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did. The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red-and-gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing.

"Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall . . . and . . . ah." Christina now had her eyes closed from pain, it wasn't her scar though it was her head. . . she concentrated on either not looking at anything or just looking at the floor.

"Professor Dumbledore, Bataskill and Potter have had a . . . well, a nightmare," said Professor McGonagall. "She says . . ."

"It wasn't a nightmare," said Harry quickly.

"Very well, then, Potter, you tell the headmaster about it." Christina opened her eyes and looked at the floor, through paced breaths she seemed better. . .

"I . . . well, I was asleep. . . ." said Harry. "But it wasn't an ordinary dream . . . it was real. . . . I saw it happen. . . ." He took a deep breath, "Ron's dad — Mr. Weasley — has been attacked by a giant snake-"

"Christina are you alright?" Ron interjected. Christina put her head up and looked at Ron, the pain was no longer present. "Just. . .a headache. . ." she breathed out.

"And you saw this too, Christina?" she turned her head to Dumbledore's direction but as the corner of her eye reached his desk the pain was back and she shut her eyes. "Yes-" she said through gritted teeth.

"How did you see this?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"Well . . . I don't know," said Harry, rather angrily — what did it matter? "Inside my head, I suppose —"

"You misunderstand me," said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone. "I mean . . . can you remember — er — where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?"

"I was the snake," he said. "I saw it all from the snake's point of view. . . ."

". . .me too. . ." said Christina. Nobody else spoke for a moment, then Dumbledore said in a new and sharper voice, "Is Arthur seriously injured?"

"Yes!" said Christina and Harry hurriedly — why were they all so slow on the uptake, did they not realize how much a person bled when fangs that long pierced their side? Christina heard Dumbledore stand up so quickly move around the room

"Everard?" he said sharply. "And you too, Dilys! You were listening?" said Dumbledore.

"Naturally."

"The man has red hair and glasses," said Dumbledore. "Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people —" Christina did not dare look for fear that the pain would return, but she couldn't help but be confused as to who Dumbledore was talking to.

"Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwarts's most celebrated Heads," Dumbledore said, now sweeping around Harry, Ron, and Professor McGonagall and approaching the magnificent sleeping bird on his perch beside the door.

"Their renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important Wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere. . . ."

"But Mr. Weasley could be anywhere!" said Harry.

"Please sit down, all four of you," said Dumbledore, as though Harry had not spoken. "Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes. . . . Professor McGonagall, if you could draw up extra chairs . . ." Christina looked to Professor McGonagall who pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown and waved it; four chairs appeared out of thin air, straight-backed and wooden, quite unlike the comfortable chintz armchairs that Dumbledore had conjured back at Christina's hearing. Christina sat down with the aid of Ron and turned to Dumbledore's direction and the pain came back. . .the sight of Dumbledore was making her ill?

"We will need," said Dumbledore very quietly, "a warning." There was a flash of fire from the corner of her eye. Dumbledore now swooped down back to where Christina, Harry and Ron were and she shut her eyes again. She heard many mechanical clicks but nonetheless could not see what was going on.

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Dumbledore apparently to himself. "But in essence divided?" Christina could make neither head nor tail of this question. Another tap and the clinking noise slowed and died. There was a shout from the top of the wall to their right and Christina whipped around; the wizard called Everard had reappeared in his portrait, panting slightly.

"Dumbledore!"

"What news?" said Dumbledore at once. "I yelled until someone came running," said the wizard, who was mopping his brow on the curtain behind him, "said I'd heard something moving downstairs — they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check — you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left —"

"He's alive?" Christina asked the portrait.

"Good," said Dumbledore ignoring Christina's question, "I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then —" And moments later, the silver-ringletted witch had reappeared in her picture too; she sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, "Yes, they've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore. . . . They carried him past under my portrait. . . . He looks bad. . . ."

"Thank you," said Dumbledore. "Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children." Relief washed over Christina, whenever Christina had something odd happen to her Fred always had an interesting interpretation that would lead her to the answer.

"Of course. . . ." Professor McGonagall got up and moved swiftly to the door; Christina cast a sideways glance at Harry, who was now looking angry, was he in pain at the sight of Dumbledore too?

"And Dumbledore — what about Molly?" said Professor McGonagall, pausing at the door. "That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching," said Dumbledore. "But she may already know . . . that excellent clock of hers . . ." Christina knew Dumbledore was referring to the clock that told, not the time, but the whereabouts and conditions of the various Weasley family members, and with a pang she thought that Mr. Weasley's hand must, even now, be pointing at "mortal peril." But it was very late. . . . Mrs. Weasley was probably asleep, not watching the clock. . . . And she felt cold as she remembered Mrs. Weasley's boggart turning into Mr. Weasley's lifeless body, his glasses askew, blood running down his face. . . . . He couldn't die. . . .

Dumbledore was now rummaging in a cupboard behind Christina, Harry and Ron. When he returned Christina promptly shut her eyes and heard him murmur "Portus". Christina heard Dumbledore march away and saw in front of her a black kettle. _Portkey_ , she thought.

"Phineas. Phineas." And now the subjects of the portraits lining the room were no longer pretending to be asleep; they were shifting around in their frames, the better to watch what was happening. When the cleverlooking wizard continued to feign sleep, some of them shouted his name too.

"Phineas! Phineas! PHINEAS!" He could not pretend any longer; he gave a theatrical jerk and opened his eyes wide. "Did someone call?"

"I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas," said Dumbledore. "I've got another message."

"Visit my other portrait?" said Phineas in a reedy voice, giving a long, fake yawn (his eyes traveling around the room and focusing upon Harry). "Oh no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight. . . ." Something about Phineas's voice was familiar to Christina. Where had she heard it before? But before she could think, the portraits on the surrounding walls broke into a storm of protest.

"Insubordination, sir!" roared a corpulent, red-nosed wizard, brandishing his fists. "Dereliction of duty!"

"We are honor-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!" cried a frail-looking old wizard whom Christina recognized as Dumbledore's predecessor, Armando Dippet. "Shame on you, Phineas!"

"Shall I persuade him, Dumbledore?" called a gimlet-eyed witch, raising an unusually thick wand that looked not unlike a birch rod.

"Oh, very well," said the wizard called Phineas, eyeing this wand slightly apprehensively, "though he may well have destroyed my picture by now, he's done most of the family —"

"Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait," said Dumbledore, and Christina realized immediately where she had heard Phineas's voice before: issuing from the apparently empty frame in his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. "You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife, children, Harry Potter and Christina Bataskill will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?"

"Arthur Weasley, injured, wife and children, Harry Potter, and Christina Bataskill coming to stay," recited Phineas in a bored voice. "Yes, yes . . . very well. . . ." He sloped away into the frame of the portrait and disappeared from view at the very moment that the study door opened again. Fred, George, and Ginny were ushered inside by Professor McGonagall, all three of them looking disheveled and shocked, still in their night things.

"Harry — what's going on?" asked Ginny, who looked frightened, Fred rushed over to Christina looking extremely worried, "Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad hurt —"

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," said Dumbledore before either Christina or Harry could speak. "He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

"How're we going?" asked Fred, looking shaken. "Floo powder?"

"No," said Dumbledore, "Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey." He indicated the old kettle lying innocently on his desk. "We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back. . . . I wish to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you —" There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor.

"It is Fawkes's warning," said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell, as Dumbledore touched the feather Christina's body convulsed as if she was lashed with a burning whip. No one seemed to notice except for Fred who put a consoling arm around her, mistaking her pain for wretching.

"She must know you're out of your beds" Dumbledore continued, ". . . . Minerva, go and head her off — tell her any story —" Professor McGonagall was gone in a swish of tartan.

"He says he'll be delighted," said a bored voice behind Dumbledore; the wizard called Phineas had reappeared in front of his Slytherin banner. "My great-great-grandson has always had odd taste in houseguests. . . ."

"Come here, then," Dumbledore said to Harry and the Weasleys, everyone stood up and joined Dumbledore except for Christina could not will herself to stand and Fred who was trying to help her.

"Quickly now, Christina-" Dumbledore placed a hand under her arm to help her up and at the touch she flew backwards away from him and landed on her feet by the door of the office. She fell to her knees and Fred ran over to her side, "What's happening?" he asked. Through gritted teeth she looked up to Fred who was now ghost white.

"It's him" she said.

"Protect yourself!" Fred said and Christina morphed her body in iron and held her head which was still pounding. She looked up to Dumbledore and the pain and rage still burst through, she tried again, and morphed her body into a hard red ruby. Her crystallized body would surely protect herself. . .she looked up to Dumbledore and Dumbledore's clear blue gaze penetrated her mind. At once, Christina's scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again — and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Christina a hatred so powerful she felt, for that instant, that she would like nothing better than to strike — to bite — to sink her fangs into the man before her and before she could move a finger, she blacked out.

Christina awoke what felt like seconds later quite anxiously. Before her eyes burst open her breathing escalated and she jolted forward only to find herself restrained to a bed frame. In a panic she looked around wildly and saw to her left Remus Lupin who was pointing his wand at her looking determined.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he said still pointing the wand at her aggressively.

"Why're you pointing your wand at me?" she said scared and saw that not only were her wrists tied down to the bed but there were red glowing rings around them as well, a counter-curse made by Dumbledore and Lupin to satiate her natural power. She did not know how to perform the spell herself, nor knew how to reverse it.

"What's the last thing you remember!" he said again. She thought back, "I had the dream about Mr. Weasley. . . Harry, Ron and I went to Dumbledore's office and then Fred, George, and Ginny came in. . . something was wrong with Dumbledore, every time I looked at him I felt so sick . . . then he touched me and I tried to shut out the pain but it didn't work and . . ." Christina was ready to stop there but as she tried recalling what happened next figures started emerging in her head. . . a flash of light, no, was it fire? It couldn't have-

"What happened next!" Lupin said, the wand now getting closer to her. She blinked hard and tried to remember and noticed that the place she was in was surely some sort of hospital. "Dumbledore attacked me?"

"Is that what you remember?" he said, apprehension marring his pointed face.

"I. . ." just then the door opened and in came Professor Snape along with Professor McGonagall holding a small clear vial. Christina watch them enter and had the anxious thought that they were going to poison her. She saw Professor McGonagall and Lupin exchange looks and then McGonagall, looking sadder, turned to Christina.

"I'm sorry Ms. Bataskill, but we have to make sure it's really you in there." she said to Christina.

"As opposed to who?!" Christina said, Snape then tipped the vial onto a spoon and Christina watched it change from clear to red. Professor McGonagall looked nervously to Snape, "It's a modified version, it will help especially in," Snape eyed Christina dangerously, "this situation. . ." Christina's breathing hiked up and she turned to Lupin who was now beckoning Snape forward.

"No, what is that! I'm not someone else, what're you talking about?!" she said recklessly, struggling against the bonds around her wrists. "Imp-"

"No use," said Snape. "She and Potter can fight it." _The Imperius curse? Lupin tried to use the Imperius curse against me?_ She thought sadly but before she could think of something to do Snape was next to her now and Lupin stowed away his wand and moved forward. Christina thrashed against the bed frame but Lupin put his hands on her shoulders holding her down.

"Ms. Bataskill, please! It's for your own good!" said Professor McGonagall from behind Snape.

"NO!" she screamed. They were wrong, there was nothing wrong with her, how could they not see that? Snape held the spoon by her face but couldn't get anywhere near her mouth with her head whipping around frantically. Professor McGonagall took out her wand and something that seemed like a belt flew towards Christina and wrapped around her forehead and the mattress behind her, forcing her still. Snape advanced on her and she pressed her mouth shut trying to catch Lupin's eye, how could he do this to her? Snape then grabbed her nose, plugging her airway closed and she stared at him, terrified. She held on for as long as she could, white stars popping in her eyes. . .

"You're going to kill me!" she said opening her mouth to which Snape shoved the spoon in her mouth and placed his hand over her mouth and shut her nose.

"No he's going to kill you, now swallow." said Snape. The liquid tasted of vomit and licorice and as tears fell down her face she swallowed. It slowly slid down the back of her throat and her head felt dizzy, almost airy. Snape removed his hand and wiped it on his robe. Christina peered at Professor McGonagall who's face seemed to be melting. . .

"Who are you?" Remus Lupin asked, but as Christina blinked the walls too started to melt and the entire room started to spin. Her whole body felt as though being lifted, or maybe morphed . . . nothing seemed right . . . where was Dumbledore? Where was Harry?

"Christina Bataskill" Christina heard herself say but the words seemed to be muffled as though underwater.

"Why are there red rings around your wrists?" Lupin asked, again the words damped in the air, barely audible to Christina. Then, a much clearer voice rang out, "Because Lupin couldn't _dream_ of being able to control you. . . you're too powerful for him. . . show him what you can do. . ." the voice was cold and bitter. She laughed quietly, "I know." Christina was no longer aware of anyone else in the room but instead focused only on the voice, low and punctuated. "He's the worst godfather a person could ask for. . . for someone who has NO ONE you'd think he'd show a little compassion!" the voice bit back angrily, "Is he even trying?"

"No. . ." said Christina.

"It isn't working." Christina heard Snape say.

"What a waste of space. . ." the cold voice said in her ear. The room still fuzzy and out of focus, the sudden movement of Professor Snape marred her vision and as though Snape were made of light she watched his end trails leave her bedside and return quickly with a syringe.

"KILL HIM!" the voice screamed but before she could even register an attack the syringe lodged itself in her shoulder and her chest lifted quickly, a black cloud flew from her and through the ceiling above. The room snapped back into focus and an enduring moment of silence followed. Lupin and Professor McGonagall looked absolutely terrified but Snape's expression was of interest. He was studying Christina like a book and she did not like it. She did not like that they were either fearful or excited by the interaction. Who was speaking? Were they in the room or, worse, inside her?

"She should practice tonight-" Snape started but Professor McGonagall, who had a new bottle approached her bedside, side stepping Snape.

"For godsakes Severus, let her rest, look at her!" they all paused to watch Christina, and she had the odd sensation of being a fish in a tank. Or an animal in a cage. Through scared tears she asked the one question burning her mind, ". . . what's wrong with me. . .?" Christina's eyes flooded with tears and she let them roll down her cheeks as she trembled on the bed.

"Nothing we can't help with." said Lupin. Professor McGonagall poured her bottle's contents into a mug and then showed Christina the bottle's label.

"Dreamless sleep draught, you've had it before" Christina felt very much like a child but could not blame them, not moments ago she tried to attack them for the very same reason. . . Christina nodded her head and Professor McGonagall brought the draught to her lips and Christina swallowed. And as instantly as it had the night Cedric died, she fell into a warm, deep sleep.

The second time Christina awoke was much better than the first. Instead of Lupin pointed a wand threateningly at her she woke to Tonks, asleep in a chair to her left, and Mad-Eye Moody by the foot of her bed, arms folded, staring at her. Her wrists were still bound, red rings still present. She gave one tug at them and then settled back down.

"They're for your protection" growled Moody.

"They're for _your_ protection." she bit back quickly. She took a deep breath, _control your anger_ she thought, _or they'll think you're still crazy._ Tonks was now awake and put a hand on the bar of Christina's bed.

"You maybe want to tell them she's awake? I can stay with her" Tonks said. Moody eyed her suspiciously then stood up to leave. He pointed a finger at Tonks and opened his mouth to say something but Tonks interrupted with, "I know" and he turned to leave although Christina was sure his magical eye was watching her carefully before he shut the door to room. Now that Christina had no wand pointing at her she observed the room she was in. It was small and rather dingy as the only window was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from more shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. The walls were of paneled oak and there was a portrait of a rather vicious looking wizard on the wall, captioned LESTER FINOWAY, 1213– 1297, _Inventor of the Jabborway Curse_.

"You alright, Christina?" Tonks asked politely. What a loaded question, physically her entire body ached, her scar tingling and he wrists were surely cut from the friction of the restraints nonetheless bruised. Emotionally she was a mess, her entire world turned on its head when another voice entered her head and egged her to fight Lupin and to murder Snape and she couldn't erase the images out of her mind of Professor McGonagall for once at a loss for words looking positively frightened. Christina opted not to answer.

"I think Dumbledore is really worried about you, I've never seen him like that before-"

"How'd I get here?" Christina asked cutting her off. The sudden speech startled Tonks but she remained calm.

"Er, well Dumbledore apparated with you-"

"No, I meant I don't remember what happened in Dumbledore's office. What happened to get me restrained like this?" said Christina gesturing to her wrists. Tonks now seemed concerned and her eyes flicked to the door to see if anyone was coming to save her from this conversation.

"I'm not going to hurt you and you telling me what happened isn't going to hurt me, so just tell me. I've been through enough and I deserve to know what happened." said Christina. Tonks watched the door for a few more seconds and then leaned in to Christina.

"Well . . . Dumbledore said that you rose from the ground and addressed him in a different voice. . ."

"What'd I say?" Christina asked.

"Er, well, you didn't say anything at first. You took out your wand and pointed it at Dumbledore and, er, you were sort of . . . laughing" said Tonks slowly.

"Then what?" said Christina, knowing she had little time before someone would interrupt them.

"Dumbledore just said 'He doesn't know' and this sort of, er, angered you. And so you made to attack Dumbledore and said-" but she was cut off by the door opening and Christina clenched her fists. Moody came in first, followed by Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and to Christina's disappointment, no one else.

"You seem to be-" Lupin started but Christina cut him off. "Get out." He stammered and opened his mouth to say something but closed it. Moody moved forward,

"Girl, you listen here-"

"No, _you_ listen! I am the _victim_ here! You-" she turned to Lupin, "don't give a shit about me so you might as well leave! You tie me down like I'm some sort of caged beast and ignore me for three months when I needed you most! Even Sirius writes to Harry and he's a _fugitive on the run!_ So quit this sad act of you pretending to give a damn about me and just GO!" The room went silent and Lupin was looking down at his shoes. Tonks' hand touched her shoulder consoling but Christina shrugged it off.

"No," she looked to Tonks pleadingly now, needing someone to understand, to be on her side, "I have no one. I am alone, and the one person who is supposed to be looking out for me treats me like this?" She felt hot tears starting to well up in her eyes. "No, I am not going to let him get away with thinking his actions have benefited me." she turned again to Lupin, "If your goal was to break me down then congratulations, Lupin! You win! Now do me a favor, for once in your fucking life, and never darken my door again!" Another pause and then Kingsley, very quietly said to Moody and Lupin, "Dumbledore said she'd be like this" and at that Christina felt mutinous and tried to lift herself to face Kingsley across the room but was forced back down by the restraints, "DON'T YOU TALK TO ME ABOUT ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!"

Christina heard a click next to her and saw Tonks was holding a button connected to a clear tube that lead to her hand and her vision blurred. For the second time Christina felt so frustrated with herself yet couldn't formulate a thought as the medicine rushed through her veins and knocked her out.


	22. Chapter 22: General Idea

For the third time Christina's eyes opened and glanced around at an unfamiliar room. This time she was in total darkness and in an old spring bed. She sat up quickly and noticed her arms were not restrained nor were there red rings around them. She also felt much happier, probably because she wasn't tied down anymore but there was something about her affect that seemed much brighter. She felt around for the walls of the room and then felt around the room for a source of light. She settled upon a candle and a few moments later some matches and lit the candle. It didn't provide much light but she could see that she was in a very small room and was alone. She noticed the door and opened it, thanking god it was unlocked.

She immediately walked into a banister and peered over the edge to see a light on at the bottom of it, "Hello?" Christina called out. No one answered. Christina followed the banister and her eyes started to adjust and she began recognizing where she was. The familiar smell, the paintings on the walls started to come into focus, she was at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in London. She walked down into the kitchen where the light ushered from and saw Sirius eating soup at the table. Suddenly she had the very tragic feeling that someone was tricking her into being happy, and she stepped into the light to gain Sirius' attention. He looked up at her, "Is this real?" said Christina feeling an overwhelming sensation of panic.

"Of course it's real" said Sirius, and he wrapped her into a tight hug. She blinked back tears as he held her and for the first time in her life she felt the unconditional love of a parent.

"Oh, Sirius, what is happening? Tonks told me I attacked Dumbledore? And how did I get here?" Sirius ushered for her to sit down and offered her his soup to which she politely declined.

"Dumbledore had a feeling this would happen. In his office though, as I'm sure Tonks told you, Dumbledore said 'He doesn't know'-"

"Yeah, what does that mean?"

"Meaning, that you lifted your wand to fight Dumbledore, if Voldemort knew about your natural powers he would've surely ripped Dumbledore apart that way, or, you know, stoned him to death. But you raised your wand. To this, of course, you became enraged and, said 'I don't know what'" she stared back at Sirius in shock.

"I-I said that?" said Christina slowly. Sirius paused for a moment and lowered his voice "Well, no. He said that."

"Voldemort. . . possessed me? That was the voice. . ."

"What voice?" Sirius said quickly.

"When Snape gave me that liquid, a voice spoke to me inside my head"

"What'd it say?" Concern now washing over Sirius' face.

"It was mad at Lupin for being a terrible god father . . . and when Snape used the needle he told me to, er, kill him." said Christina. Sirius didn't say anything for a long time. Christina picked at her nails and glanced every few moments at Sirius who seemed to be choosing his next words very carefully.

". . . . we think that the reason why you were so, er - easily manipulated at St. Mungo's" -so that's where she was- "was because Lupin had restrained your natural powers. We think that they protect you from His control-"

"When I woke up I felt happier. . . could that be because of the red rings being gone?"

"I definitely think so, so it's no wonder Voldemort turned you against Lupin and Snape, both tried to restrain you when He just wanted to manipulate you." Sirius said heavily.

"Thank you" said Christina. Sirius looked at her confused, "For being honest with me and not treating me like a freak." He gave a tired smile and held her hand.

"You're not a freak, your friends are here by the way." Her eyes widened and she smiled "Who's all here?"

"We've got quite the packed house, all the Weasley's, save for Mr. Weasley-"

"Mr. Weasley! Is he-"

"He's perfectly fine, he wouldn't have had we not had your signal, so thank you for that! Harry is here too." Her heart swelled with happiness and relief and she looked to the clock on the wall to see what time it was, 3 o'clock in the morning. Hardly a time for Christina to wake up the house.

"Probably not the best time for a reunion. . . but if you'd like you can be the last one to breakfast and I can let everyone know you're not crazy!" she laughed and shook her head at Sirius.

"Harry's lucky to have you." she said sadly, remembering that Lupin would never be as supportive.

"I'm here for you too you know" Sirius said walking over to her clasping a hand to her shoulder. She got up and hugged him and returned upstairs, excited to see her friends the next morning.

Christina woke up much earlier than the others enthusiastic to see them but also nervous. She forgot to ask Sirius what day it was but she assumed it couldn't have been more than a day since the dream. How would the others remember her? Were they scared of her? Did they miss her or were they more focused on Mr. Weasley? Christina was abruptly brought out of her thoughts when she heard a timid rap at the door.

"Christina?" she rushed out of bed and opened the door to a pajama-clad Fred Weasley holding his wand to illuminate the dark hallway, "Are you-"

"It's me. Sirius told me what happened. . ." she stepped forward and placed a hand on his cheek, brushing some hairs from his face. "I'm-" Fred swooped down and kissed her deeply, cutting off her speech. He wrapping his arms around her waist tightly and Christina ran her hands through his short fiery red hair. Fred lifted her off the ground and carried her to her bed, without breaking the kiss. He laid her down on her back to the hiss of the bed springs and she let her hands run along his neck and spine as he kicked off his shoes and bent down to kiss her more.

Christina felt enraptured by Fred's presence, she longed for him not only physically but emotionally. He leaned down closer to her, his lips moving from hers to her neck, he breathed her in as he sucked on her soft skin. She let out a soft, barely audible moan which only pressed him closer to her. His hand ran the length of her body and as his hand reached her thigh he lifted up her nightgown, caressing her creamy, delicate skin.

"I love you. . ." Christina whispered, pulling away from Fred's lips. She looked at him in the eyes and saw him smile before swooping down again for her lips.

"I love you too. . . ." he whispered in her ear. She smiled and kissed him again with such ferocity she worried she might've bruised him . . . .

Daylight started to creep into the room and it rested on a sleeping Christina and Fred, enveloped within one another. The door opened with a creak and Christina opened one eye to see George Weasley with his arms folded.

"Found him!" said George turning over his shoulder. Christina groaned and pulled the covers up and over her and Fred who was shirtless, and under the sheets trouser-less.

"Looks like they're back to normal." Christina heard Ginny say, she peaked her head from the covers.

"I promise I will talk to you all soon, is it alright if I get five minutes to get dressed?" Christina said to Ginny and George's laughter.

"Breakfast is downstairs, lovebirds. Don't let mum see you like this." said George turning away. Ginny made kissing sounds as she closed the door. Christina turned to Fred whose eyes were still closed but when she kissed him he smiled and laughed.

"Come on, I'm starving!" said Christina and she threw on a pair of clothes, throwing Fred's pajamas at him. He lazily got up and put on his trousers and as Christina put on a shirt from the closet, no doubt an old relic of the Black family past, he came up behind her and burrowed his nose in her hair, hugging her waist.

"But isn't this so much nicer?" she smiled, holding his hands and turned around.

"I haven't eaten since the dream, I think I'll faint if I exert any amount of physical energy before eating-"

"They didn't feed you at St. Mungo's?" asked Fred incredulously.

"How could they? I was asleep most of the time." Fred picked up his shirt from the bed and put it on then swooped her off her feet and carried her like a child.

"Ms. Bataskill I deem you unfit for walking,"

"Fred!"

"To the kitchen!"

The kitchen table was full and every chair was filled; from the left was Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, George, Sirius, Ron, Harry, to Christina's surprise, Hermione and two empty seats. Everyone looked silently up to Christina and Fred and she let herself down from him.

"Er, hi everyone." Sirius smiled and stood up but Hermione beat him to the punch and grabbed her into a bear hug.

"Oh, Christina we were so worried!" she said breathlessly. Christina smiled and Harry and Ron were right behind her. Christina threw an arm around both of the boys and hugged them.

"You were in a right state!" said Ron letting her go. Christina sat at the table next to Hermione and devoured the food in front of her.

"How are you feeling?" asked Harry but Hermione hit him on the shoulder.

"Harry, let her eat! She hasn't eaten in four days-"

"Four days!" Christina exclaimed. "But. . . I woke up just shortly after I-"

"You woke up 4 hours after, well, you know. . . then you didn't wake up again for a whole day!" said Ron.

"That's enough" said Mrs. Weasley rising from the table. She bustled over to Christina and planted a kiss on her temple. "We're happy you're feeling better. Eat up, and not another word, you'll only upset her!" said Mrs. Weasley and Christina looked down at her breakfast and no one ushered another word.

The entire house seemed to be jovial except for the occasional gripe from Mrs. Weasley. At night, after she fell asleep, Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George and Ginny would discuss what the past events meant. It turned out that Christina had very much been possessed by Lord Voldemort, Ginny confirmed this when they both recanted that they did acts they did not remember in the name of Lord Voldemort. When Ginny in her first year wrote in blood on the walls and just four nights ago, when Christina raised a wand at Dumbledore.

Christina worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help, so that by the time they all went to bed on Christmas Eve the house was barely recognizable. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius's family tree from view; and even the stuffed elf heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards.

Christina awoke on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the foot of her bed and Ginny was already halfway through opening her own, rather larger, pile.

"Good haul this year," she informed Christina through a cloud of paper. Christina sorted through her presents as Hermione woke and found one with Hermione's handwriting on it. She had given her a quill that corrected spelling errors according to Hermione's note.

"It's really useful, actually!" said Hermione groggily seeing that Christina opened her gift. Sirius had given Christina a set of parchment and quills that only showed notes to those permitted to read it, _just like the Maruader's map!_ Christina thought. Hagrid had sent a vial of green bubbling tonic for headaches made from Flobberworms. Tonks's present was a small, sparkling rock that changed color when it rained; Christina saw a wrapped gift with a note that said ' _Lupin'_ on it and ignored it; Ron had given her an enormous box of Every-Flavor Beans, Harry had gotten her a framed picture of the three of them with a heartfelt letter on the back, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the usual hand-knitted jumper and some mince pies, and Fred gave her a bottle of fire whiskey (' _Save to drink with me_!') and a small marble which she had no idea what to do with. Christina picked up all the wrapping paper off the ground when a loud crack banged, and Fred and George Apparated at the foot of her bed.

"Merry Christmas," said George. "Don't go downstairs for a bit."

"Why not?" said Ginny.

"Mum's crying again," said Fred heavily and sat down at the foot of Christina's bed. "Percy sent back his Christmas jumper."

"Without a note," added George. "Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited him or anything. . . ."

"We tried to comfort her," said Fred, "Told her Percy's nothing more than a humongous pile of rat droppings —"

"— didn't work," said George, helping himself to one of Ginny's Chocolate Frogs. "So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon."

"Lupin's here?" Christina said trying to control her tone. She hadn't seen him since she'd thrown him out of her room.

"Of course he is, it's Christmas." said Hermione. Christina didn't say anything, Fred kissed her on the cheek then both twins apparated out of the girls' room.

They got up and dressed and Hermione brought down with her a wrapped present for one of the adults, Christina assumed. As they reached the end of the landing they could hear various inhabitants of the house calling "Merry Christmas" to each other. Harry and Ron joined them downstairs a few moments later.

"Thanks for the book, Harry!" she said happily. "I've been wanting that New Theory of Numerology for ages! And that perfume is really unusual, Ron."

"No problem," said Ron. "Who's that for anyway?" he added, nodding at the neatly wrapped present she was carrying.

"Kreacher," said Hermione brightly.

"It had better not be clothes!" said Ron warningly. "You know what Sirius said, Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!"

"It isn't clothes," said Hermione, "although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it would brighten up his bedroom."

"What bedroom?" said Harry, dropping his voice to a whisper as they were passing the portrait of Sirius's mother.

"Well, Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of — den," said Hermione. "Apparently he sleeps under the boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen." Mrs. Weasley was the only person in the basement when they arrived there. She was standing at the stove and sounded as though she had a bad head cold when she wished them Merry Christmas, and they all averted their eyes.

"So, this is Kreacher's bedroom?" said Ron, strolling over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry which Christina had never seen open.

"Yes," said Hermione, now sounding a little nervous. "Er . . . I think we'd better knock . . ." Ron rapped the door with his knuckles but there was no reply.

"He must be sneaking around upstairs," he said, and without further ado pulled open the door.

"Urgh." Harry peered inside. Most of the cupboard was taken up with a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot's space underneath the pipes Kreacher had made himself something that looked like a nest. A jumble of assorted rags and smelly old blankets were piled on the floor and the small dent in the middle of it showed where Kreacher curled up to sleep every night. Here and there among the material were stale bread crusts and moldy old bits of cheese. In a far corner glinted small objects and coins that Harry guessed Kreacher had saved, magpie-like, from Sirius's purge of the house, and he had also managed to retrieve the silver-framed family photographs that Sirius had thrown away over the summer. Their glass might be shattered, but still the little black-and-white people inside them peered haughtily up at him, including — he felt a little jolt in his stomach — the dark, heavy-lidded woman whose trial she had witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve: Bellatrix Lestrange. By the looks of it, hers was Kreacher's favorite photograph; he had placed it to the fore of all the others and had mended the glass clumsily with Spellotape.

"I think I'll just leave his present here," said Hermione, laying the package neatly in the middle of the depression in the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. "He'll find it later, that'll be fine. . . ."

"Come to think of it," said Sirius, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as they closed the cupboard door, "has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?"

"I haven't seen him since the night we came back here," said Harry. "You were ordering him out of the kitchen."

"Yeah . . ." said Sirius, frowning. "You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too. . . . He must be hiding upstairs somewhere. . . ."

"He couldn't have left, could he?" said Harry. "I mean, when you said 'out,' maybe he thought you meant, get out of the house?"

"No, no, house-elves can't leave unless they're given clothes, they're tied to their family's house," said Sirius.

"They can leave the house if they really want to," Harry contradicted him. "Dobby did, he left the Malfoys' to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterward, but he still managed it." Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, "I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. . . . Of course, he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died. . . . But I mustn't get my hopes up. . . ." Christina, Fred, George, and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful.

Once they had had their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Christina, Harry and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley a visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Mundungus turned up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle, having managed to "borrow" a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day. The car, which Christina doubted very much had been taken with the knowledge or consent of its owner, had had a similar Enlarging Spell put upon it as the Weasleys' old Ford Anglia; although normally proportioned outside, ten people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably. Mrs. Weasley hesitated at the point of getting inside; Christina knew that her disapproval of Mundungus was battling with her dislike of traveling without magic; finally the cold outside and her children's pleading triumphed, and she settled herself into the backseat between Fred and Bill with good grace.

The journey to St. Mungo's was quite quick, as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards were creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Christina and the others got out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them; they strolled casually toward a window where a dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass. Christina was baffled but was nudged gently forward by Fred and she too past through the window. It felt like a cool wall of water and on the other side was the reception which area looked pleasantly festive: The crystal orbs that illuminated St. Mungo's had been turned to red and gold so that they became gigantic, glowing Christmas baubles; holly hung around every doorway, and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each topped with a gleaming gold star. It wasn't very crowded, although halfway across the room Christina found herself shunted aside by a witch with a walnut jammed up her left nostril.

"Family argument, eh?" smirked the blonde witch behind the desk. "You're the third I've seen today . . . Spell Damage, fourth floor . . ." They found Mr. Weasley propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray in his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face.

"Everything all right, Arthur?" asked Mrs. Weasley, after they had all greeted Mr. Weasley and handed over their presents.

"Fine, fine," said Mr. Weasley, a little too heartily. "You — er — haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

"No," said Mrs. Weasley suspiciously, "why?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Mr. Weasley airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. "Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas- Oh, Christina — you're alright! This is absolutely wonderful — everyone here!" Christina smiled and hugged Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley did not seem entirely satisfied with Mr. Weasley's answer and she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt.

"Arthur," she said, with a snap in her voice like a mousetrap, "you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."

"What?" said Mr. Weasley, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. "No, no — it's nothing — it's — I —" He seemed to deflate under Mrs. Weasley's piercing gaze. "Well — now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea. . . . He's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in . . . um . . . complementary medicine. . . . I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies . . . well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on — on Muggle wounds —" Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning.

"Do you mean to tell me," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, "that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"

"Not messing about, Molly, dear," said Mr. Weasley imploringly. "It was just — just something Pye and I thought we'd try — only, most unfortunately — well, with these particular kinds of wounds — it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped —"

"Meaning?"

"Well . . . well, I don't know whether you know what — what stitches are?"

"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," said Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, "but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid —"

"I fancy a cup of tea too," said Christina, jumping to her feet. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny almost sprinted to the door with her. As it swung closed behind them, they heard Mrs. Weasley shriek, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?"

"Typical Dad," said Ginny, shaking her head as they set off up the corridor. "Stitches . . . I ask you . . ."

"Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds," said Hermione fairly. "I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something. . . . I wonder where the tearoom is?"

"Fifth floor," said Harry. They walked along the corridor through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit.

"And what's that supposed to be?" he asked angrily, as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the occupants out of the way.

" 'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now —"

"Watch who you're calling gruesome!" said Ron, his ears turning red. "The only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked by the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes —"

"I have not got spattergroit!"

"But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master —"

"They're freckles!" said Ron furiously. "Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!" He rounded on the others, who were all keeping determinedly straight faces.

"What floor's this?"

"I think it's the fifth," said Hermione.

"Nah, it's the fourth," said Harry, "one more —" But as they stepped onto the landing Harry came to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that marked the start of a corridor signposted spell damage. A man was peering out at them all with his nose pressed against the glass. He had wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a broad vacant smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth.

"Blimey!" said Ron, also staring at the man.

"Oh my goodness," said Hermione suddenly, sounding breathless. "Professor Lockhart!" Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George's ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher pushed open the doors and moved toward them, wearing a long lilac dressing gown.

"Well, hello there!" he said. "I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?"

"Hasn't changed much, has he?" Harry muttered to Ginny, who grinned.

"Er — how are you, Professor?" said Ron, sounding slightly guilty. Christina had heard the story before, it had been Ron's malfunctioning wand that had damaged Professor Lockhart's memory so badly that he had landed here in the first place, though, as Lockhart had been attempting to permanently wipe Harry and Ron's memories at the time, Christina's sympathy was limited.

"I'm very well indeed, thank you!" said Lockhart exuberantly, pulling a rather battered peacock-feather quill from his pocket. "Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!"

"Er — we don't want any at the moment, thanks," said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry, who asked, "Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors? Shouldn't you be in a ward?" The smile faded slowly from Lockhart's face. For a few moments he gazed intently at Harry, then he said, "Haven't we met?"

"Er . . . yeah, we have," said Harry. "You used to teach us at Hogwarts, remember?"

"Teach?" repeated Lockhart, looking faintly unsettled. "Me? Did I?" And then the smile reappeared upon his face so suddenly it was rather alarming.

"Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!" But just then a head poked out of a door at the far end of the corridor and a voice said, "Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?" A motherly looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair came bustling up the corridor, smiling warmly at Christina and the others.

"Oh Gilderoy, you've got visitors! How lovely, and on Christmas Day too! Do you know, he never gets visitors, poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?"

"We're doing autographs!" Gilderoy told the Healer with another glittering smile. "They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!"

"Listen to him," said the Healer, taking Lockhart's arm and beaming fondly at him as though he were a precocious two-year-old. "He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be coming back a little bit. Will you step this way? He's in a closed ward, you know, he must have slipped out while I was bringing in the Christmas presents, the door's usually kept locked . . . not that he's dangerous! But," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "bit of a danger to himself, bless him. . . . Doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back. . . . It is nice of you to have come to see him —"

"Er," said Ron, gesturing uselessly at the floor above, "actually, we were just — er —" But the Healer was smiling expectantly at them, and Ron's feeble mutter of "going to have a cup of tea" trailed away into nothingness. They looked at one another rather hopelessly and then followed Lockhart and his Healer along the corridor.

"Let's not stay long," Ron said quietly. The Healer pointed her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey ward and muttered "Alohomora." The door swung open and she led the way inside, keeping a firm grasp on Gilderoy's arm until she had settled him into an armchair beside his bed.

"This is our long-term resident ward," she informed Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in a low voice.

"For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement. . . . Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself, and we've seen a real improvement in Mr. Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we recognize yet. . . . Well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat. . . ." Christina looked around; this ward bore unmistakable signs of being a permanent home to its residents. They had many more personal effects around their beds than in Mr. Weasley's ward; the wall around Gilderoy's headboard, for instance, was papered with pictures of himself, all beaming toothily and waving at the new arrivals. He had autographed many of them to himself in disjointed, childish writing. The moment he had been deposited in his chair by the Healer, Gilderoy pulled a fresh stack of photographs toward him, seized a quill, and started signing them all feverishly.

"You can put them in envelopes," he said to Ginny, throwing the signed pictures into her lap one by one as he finished them.

"I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail. . . . Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly. . . . I just wish I knew why. . . ." He paused, looking faintly puzzled, then beamed again and returned to his signing with renewed vigor.

"I suspect it is simply my good looks. . . ." A sallow-skinned, mournful-looking wizard lay in the bed opposite, staring at the ceiling; he was mumbling to himself and seemed quite unaware of anything around him. Two beds along was a woman whose entire head was covered in fur. At the far end of the ward flowery curtains had been drawn around two beds to give the occupants and their visitors some privacy.

"Here you are, Agnes," said the Healer brightly to the furry-faced woman, handing her a small pile of Christmas presents.

"See, not forgotten, are you? And your son's sent an owl to say he's visiting tonight, so that's nice, isn't it?" Agnes gave several loud barks.

"And look, Broderick, you've been sent a potted plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy hippogriff for each month, they'll brighten things up, won't they?" said the Healer, bustling along to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar to the wall with her wand.

"And — oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?" Christina's head spun round. The curtains had been drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward and two visitors were walking back down the aisle between the beds: a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur, and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed — Neville. With a sudden rush of understanding, Christina realized who the people in the end beds must be. She cast around wildly for some means of distracting the others so that Neville could leave the ward unnoticed and unquestioned, but Ron had looked up at the sound of the name "Longbottom" too, and before Christina could stop him had called, "Neville!" Neville jumped and cowered as though a bullet had narrowly missed him.

"It's us, Neville!" said Ron brightly, getting to his feet. "Have you seen? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?"

"Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" said Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all. Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them.

"Ah, yes," said his grandmother, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shriveled, clawlike hand for him to shake. "Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you."

"Er — thanks," said Harry, shaking hands. Neville did not look at them, but stared at his own feet, the color deepening in his face all the while. "And you are the other one, Bataskill. Well, you two are clearly Weasleys," Mrs. Longbottom continued, proffering her hand regally to Christina then Ron and Ginny in turn.

"Yes, I know your parents — not well, of course — but fine people, fine people . . . and you must be Hermione Granger?" Hermione looked rather startled that Mrs. Longbottom knew her name, but shook hands all the same.

"Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy," she said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, "but he hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say. . . ." And she jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, so that the stuffed vulture on her hat trembled alarmingly.

"What?" said Ron, looking amazed (Christina wanted to stamp on Ron's foot, but that sort of thing was much harder to bring off unnoticed when you were wearing jeans rather than robes). "Is that your dad down the end, Neville?"

"What's this?" said Mrs. Longbottom sharply. "Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?" Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling, and shook his head. Christina could not remember ever feeling sorrier for anyone, but she could not think of any way of helping Neville out of the situation.

"Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" said Mrs. Longbottom angrily. "You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"

"I'm not ashamed," said Neville very faintly, still looking anywhere but at Christina and the others. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds.

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!" said Mrs. Longbottom. "My son and his wife," she said, turning haughtily to Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, "were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers." Hermione and Ginny both clapped their hands over their mouths. Ron stopped craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Neville's parents and looked mortified.

"They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the Wizarding community," Mrs. Longbottom went on. "Highly gifted, the pair of them. I — yes, Alice dear, what is it?" Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Christina had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge, and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions toward Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand.

"Again?" said Mrs. Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. "Very well, Alice dear, very well — Neville, take it, whatever it is. . . ." But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Droobles Blowing Gum wrapper.

"Very nice, dear," said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder. But Neville said quietly, "Thanks Mum." His mother tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh, but Christina did not think he'd ever found anything less funny in his life.

"Well, we'd better get back," sighed Mrs. Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves.

"Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now. . . ." But as they left, Christina was sure he saw Neville slip the wrapper into his pocket. The door closed behind them.

"I never knew," said Hermione, who looked tearful.

"Nor did I," said Ron rather hoarsely.

"Nor me," whispered Ginny. They all looked at Harry.

"I did," Harry said glumly.

"As did I, Dumbledore told us but we promised we wouldn't mention it . . . that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds." said Christina sadly.

"Bellatrix Lestrange did that?" whispered Hermione, horrified. "That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?" There was a long silence, broken by Lockhart's angry voice.

"Look, I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!"


	23. Chapter 23: Goodbyes

Kreacher, it transpired, had been lurking in the attic. Sirius said he had found him up there, covered in dust, no doubt looking for more relics of the Black family to hide in his cupboard. Though Sirius seemed satisfied with this story, it made Christina uneasy. Kreacher seemed to be in a better mood on his reappearance, his bitter muttering had subsided somewhat, and he submitted to orders more docilely than usual, though once or twice Christina caught the house-elf staring avidly at her, always looking quickly away when he saw that Christina had noticed. Christina did not mention her vague suspicions to Sirius, whose cheerfulness was evaporating fast now that Christmas was over. As the date of their departure back to Hogwarts drew nearer, he became more and more prone to what Mrs. Weasley called "fits of the sullens," in which he would become taciturn and grumpy, often withdrawing to Buckbeak's room for hours at a time.

His gloom seeped through the house, oozing under doorways like some noxious gas, so that all of them became infected by it. Christina did not want to leave Sirius all alone again with only Kreacher for company. In fact, for the first time in her life, she was not looking forward to returning to Hogwarts. Going back to school would mean placing herself once again under the tyranny of Dolores Umbridge, who had no doubt managed to force through another dozen decrees in their absence. Then there was no Quidditch to look forward to now that she had been banned; there was every likelihood that their burden of homework would increase as the exams drew even nearer; Dumbledore remained as remote as ever; in fact, if it had not been for the D.A., Christina felt she might have gone to Sirius and begged him to let her leave Hogwarts and remain in Grimmauld Place. Then, on the very last day of the holidays, something happened that made Christina positively dread her return to school.

"Harry, Christina, dears," said Mrs. Weasley, poking her head into Harry and Ron's bedroom, where Harry and Ron were playing wizard chess watched by Hermione, Ginny, and Crookshanks, and in the corner shooting sparks at the ceiling were Christina and Fred, "could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with the two of you." Christina barely registered anything was said at all, she was too busy admiring a lovely waterfall of sparks above.

"— sorry, Mrs. Weasley, what did you say?" asked Harry. Christina looked over, "Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word with both of you." Christina's mouth fell open in horror. She looked around at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at her. Crookshanks, whom Hermione had been restraining with difficulty for the past quarter of an hour, leapt gleefully upon the board and set the pieces running for cover, squealing at the top of their voices.

"Snape?" said Christina blankly.

"Professor Snape, dear," said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly. "Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long."

"What's he want with you?" said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room.

"You haven't done anything, have you?" Fred asked quietly.

"No!" said Harry, "I don't think so. . . " Christina added slowly trying to rack her brains to think what she could have done that would make Snape pursue her and Harry to Grimmauld Place. She and Harry rose in silence, giving each other confused looks as they reached the kitchen.

Sirius and Snape were both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius.

"Er," said Harry to announce their presence. Snape looked around at them, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair.

"Sit down."

"You know," said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, "I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see." An ugly flush suffused Snape's pallid face. Harry sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table forcing Christina to sit next to Snape. She glared at Harry.

"I was supposed to see you two alone," said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, "but Black —"

"I'm his godfather," said Sirius, louder than ever. "And she's as good as!"

"I am here on Dumbledore's orders," said Snape, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, "but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel . . . involved."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Sirius, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs with a loud bang. "Merely that I am sure you must feel — ah — frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful," Snape laid a delicate stress on the word, "for the Order." It was Sirius's turn to flush. Snape's lip curled in triumph as he turned to Christina and Harry.

"The headmaster has sent me to tell you, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term."

"Study what?" said Christina blankly. Snape's sneer became more pronounced. "Occlumency, Bataskill. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one."

"Why do I have to study Occlu — thing? I thought he could only get to me if I was, er, unprotected . . ." she blurted out.

"Because the headmaster thinks it a good idea," said Snape smoothly. "You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"

"Yes," said Christina.

"Potter?"

"Yes, er- who's going to be teaching us?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I am," he said. Christina had the horrible sensation that her insides were melting. Extra lessons with Snape — what on earth had she done to deserve this? She looked quickly around at Sirius for support and saw Harry was doing the same as well.

"Why can't Dumbledore teach them?" asked Sirius aggressively. "Why you?"

"I suppose because it is a headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks," said Snape silkily. "I assure you I did not beg for the job." He got to his feet. "I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them. . . Bataskill the following night." He turned to leave, his black traveling cloak billowing behind him.

"Wait a moment," said Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair. Snape turned back to face them, sneering.

"I am in rather a hurry, Black . . . unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time. . . ."

"I'll get to the point, then," said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who, Christina noticed, had balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what Christina was sure was the handle of his wand. "If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give them a hard time, you'll have me to answer to."

"How touching," Snape sneered. "But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father ad Bataskill very much like you?"

"Yes, I have," said Sirius proudly.

"Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him and she's too stubborn to listen to a word of it anyhow," Snape said sleekly. Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table toward Snape, pulling out his wand as he went; Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius's wand tip to his face.

"Sirius!" said Harry loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear him.

"I've warned you, Snivellus," said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better —"

"Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" whispered Snape. "Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months very seriously?"

"Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?"

"Speaking of dogs," said Snape softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform . . . gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?" Sirius raised his wand.

"NO!" Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them, "Sirius, don't —"

"Are you calling me a coward?" roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge. Christina remained seated and watched the madness unfold, entertained by the whole ordeal.

"Why, yes, I suppose I am," said Snape.

"Harry — get — out — of — it!" snarled Sirius, pushing him out of the way with his free hand. The kitchen door opened and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr. Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pajamas covered by a mackintosh.

"Cured!" he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. "Completely cured!" He and all the other Weasleys froze on the threshold, gazing at the scene in front of them, which was also suspended in mid-action, both Sirius and Snape looking toward the door with their wands pointing into each other's faces and Harry immobile between them, a hand stretched out to each of them, trying to force them apart, and Christina seated resembling a deer in the headlights.

"Merlin's beard," said Mr. Weasley, the smile sliding off his face, "what's going on here?" Both Sirius and Snape lowered their wands. Christina looked from one to the other. Each wore an expression of utmost contempt, yet the unexpected entrance of so many witnesses seemed to have brought them to their senses. Snape pocketed his wand and swept back across the kitchen, passing the Weasleys without comment. At the door he looked back.

"Six o'clock Monday evening, Potter. Bataskill day after" He was gone. Sirius glared after him, his wand at his side.

"But what's been going on?" asked Mr. Weasley again.

"Nothing, Arthur," said Sirius, who was breathing heavily as though he had just run a long distance. "Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends. . . ." With what looked like an enormous effort, he smiled. "So . . . you're cured? That's great news, really great. . . ."

"Yes, isn't it?" said Mrs. Weasley, leading her husband forward into a chair. "Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?" she added, rather menacingly.

"Yes, Molly dear," said Mr. Weasley meekly.

That night's meal should have been a cheerful one with Mr. Weasley back amongst them; Christina could tell Sirius was trying to make it so, yet when Harry's godfather was not forcing himself to laugh loudly at Fred and George's jokes or offering everyone more food, his face fell back into a moody, brooding expression. Christina was separated from him by Harry, Mundungus and Mad-Eye, who had dropped in to offer Mr. Weasley their congratulations; she wanted to talk to Sirius, to tell him that he should not listen to a word Snape said, that Snape was goading him deliberately and that the rest of them did not think Sirius was a coward for doing as Dumbledore told him and remaining in Grimmauld Place, but she had no opportunity to do so, and wondered occasionally, eyeing the ugly look on Sirius's face, whether she would have dared to even if she had the chance. Instead she told Ron and Hermione under her voice about having to take Occlumency lessons with Snape and nudged Harry in the conversation.

"Dumbledore wants to stop you having those dreams about Voldemort," said Hermione at once. "Well, you won't be sorry not to have them anymore, will you?"

"Extra lessons with Snape?" said Ron, sounding aghast. "I'd rather have the nightmares!"

They were to return to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus the following day, escorted once again by Tonks and Lupin, both of whom were eating breakfast in the kitchen when Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived there next morning. Christina still hadn't spoken to Lupin since the night in the hospital and she didn't plan to. She didn't feel like she owed him an apology and didn't care for the lecture that would surely follow suit.

The adults seemed to have been midway through a whispered conversation when the door opened; all of them looked around hastily and fell silent. After a hurried breakfast they pulled on jackets and scarves against the chilly gray January morning. Christina had an unpleasant constricted sensation in her chest; she did not want to say good-bye to Sirius. She had a bad feeling about this parting; she did not know when they would next see each other and felt that it was incumbent upon her to say something to Sirius to cheer him up. She knew Harry would most likely say something to potentially stop him doing anything stupid — Harry was worried that Snape's accusation of cowardice had stung Sirius so badly he might even now be planning some foolhardy trip beyond Grimmauld Place. However, Christina knew Sirius was an adult and could take care of himself without the aid of Harry. Before she could think of what to say, however, Sirius had beckoned Harry to his side. She attempting to listen in without seeming too suspicious but Mrs. Weasley called her over to give her a hat.

"I swear, you kids never bundle up enough - there, that should be good!" she said putting a wool hat on Christina's head. She smiled and said thanks. Mrs. Weasley went to the door but Christina stayed back and stood near Sirius and Harry.

"I doubt Molly would approve — but I want you to use it if you need me, all right?" said Sirius quietly to Harry.

"Okay," said Harry, stowing away a package from Sirius inside the pocket of his jacket.

"Let's go, then," said Sirius, clapping Harry on the shoulder and smiling grimly, and pushed ahead of Christina, stopping before the heavily chained and bolted front door, surrounded by Weasleys.

"Good-bye, Harry, take care," said Mrs. Weasley, hugging him. "Christina, dear, have a wonderful term!" she said embracing her tightly.

"See you Harry, and hey, you two keep an eye out for snakes for me!" said Mr. Weasley genially, shaking Harry's hand and clasping an arm around Christina.

"Right — yeah," said Christina distractedly. It was her last chance to talk to Sirius; she turned, looked into his face and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so Sirius was giving Harry a brief, one-armed hug. He said gruffly, "Look after yourself, Harry," and next moment Harry was out the door and Sirius was walking up the stairs. Had she done something to upset him? Mr. Weasley looked at her, confused as to why she too didn't leave and she called out, "Sirius!" The creaks of the stairs stopped and Sirius turned around, looking wearier than ever. He had a strained smile, and held his arms open for a hug. She smiled and ran past Mr. and Mrs. Weasley giving Sirius a warm hug.

"What, no goodbye for me?" she teased. He looked down, lips tight, "I hate saying goodbye to you kids. Makes me feel old." Christina bit her lip and patted him on the shoulder.

"Harry and I discussed it, and we think it's okay for you to hang out with us." she joked with a smile. He laughed a hearty, yet sad laugh, "You are more like me than you know."

"Which is funny because I think Harry is just like Lupin-"

"Christina! We have to go!" said Tonks, whose head was peaking from the doorway. "Coming!" said Christina and she turned back to Sirius to give him a hug.

"At least you don't hate Harry." said Sirius darkly. Christina frowned and looked down, "I don't hate him-"

"CHRISTINA!"

"OK!" Christina shouted back. She gave Sirius a fleeting look and then rushed down the stairs and out into the icy winter air, with Tonks (today heavily disguised as a tall, tweedy woman with iron-gray hair) chivvying her down the steps. The door of number twelve slammed shut behind them. They followed Lupin down the front steps. As she reached the pavement, Christina looked around. Number twelve was shrinking rapidly as those on either side of it stretched sideways, squeezing it out of sight; one blink later, it had gone.

"Come on, the quicker we get on the bus the better," said Tonks, and Christina thought there was nervousness in the glance she threw around the square. Lupin flung out his right arm. BANG. A violently purple, triple-decker bus had appeared out of thin air in front of them, narrowly avoiding the nearest lamppost, which jumped backward out of its way. A thin, pimply, jug-eared youth in a purple uniform leapt down onto the pavement and said, "Welcome to the —"

"Yes, yes, we know, thank you," said Tonks swiftly. "On, on, get on — And she shoved Christina forward toward the steps, past the conductor, who goggled at Harry as he passed.

" 'Ere — it's 'Arry — !"

"If you shout his name I will curse you into oblivion," muttered Tonks menacingly, now shunting Ginny and Hermione forward.

"I've always wanted to go on this thing," said Ron happily, joining Christina and Harry on board and looking around. Christina, too, had never been on the Knight Bus. It was crammed with an assortment of mismatched chairs grouped haphazardly around windows. Some of these appeared to have fallen over when the bus stopped abruptly in Grimmauld Place; a few witches and wizards were still getting to their feet, grumbling, and somebody's shopping bag had slid the length of the bus; an unpleasant mixture of frog spawn, cockroaches, and custard creams was scattered all over the floor.

"Looks like we'll have to split up," said Tonics briskly, looking around for empty chairs. "Fred, George, Ron and Ginny, if you just take those seats at the back . . . Remus can stay with you. . . ." She, Christina, Harry, and Hermione proceeded up to the very top deck, where there were two chairs at the very front of the bus and two at the back. Stan Shunpike, the conductor, followed Christina and Harry eagerly to the back. Heads turned as Christina and Harry passed and when they sat down, she saw all the faces flick back to the front again. As Christina and Harry handed Stan eleven Sickles each, the bus set off again, swaying ominously. It rumbled around Grimmauld Square, weaving on and off the pavement, then, with another tremendous BANG, they were all flung backward; Christina's chair toppled right over and Tulip, who had been on her lap, burst out of her cage and flew twittering wildly up to the front of the bus where she fluttered down upon Hermione's shoulder instead. Harry, who had narrowly avoided falling by seizing a candle bracket, looked out of the window: they were now speeding down what appeared to be a motorway.

"Just outside Birmingham," said Stan happily, answering Christina's unasked question as she struggled up from the floor. "You keepin' well, then, 'Arry? I seen your name in the paper loads over the summer, but it weren't never nuffink very nice. . . . I said to Ern, I said, ' 'e didn't seem like a nutter when we met 'im, just goes to show, dunnit? 'An you! Your the ot'er one!' " He said handing over their tickets, pointing at Christina. She smiled awkwardly while he continued to gaze, enthralled, at Christina and Harry; apparently Stan did not care how nutty somebody was if they were famous enough to be in the paper. The Knight Bus swayed alarmingly, overtaking a line of cars on the inside. Looking toward the front of the bus Christina saw Hermione cover her eyes with her hands, Tulip still swaying happily on her shoulder. BANG. Chairs slid backward again as the Knight Bus jumped from the Birmingham motorway to a quiet country lane full of hairpin bends. Hedgerows on either side of the road were leaping out of their way as they mounted the verges. From here they moved to a main street in the middle of a busy town, then to a viaduct surrounded by tall hills, then to a windswept road between high-rise flats, each time with a loud BANG.

"I never want to ride on here again," muttered Christina, picking herself up from the floor for the sixth time.

"Listen, it's 'Ogwarts stop after this," said Stan brightly, swaying toward them. "That bossy woman up front 'oo got on with you, she's given us a little tip to move you up the queue. We're just gonna let Madam Marsh off first, though —" There was more retching from downstairs, followed by a horrible spattering sound. "She's not feeling 'er best."

A few minutes later the Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside a small pub, which squeezed itself out of the way to avoid a collision. They could hear Stan ushering the unfortunate Madam Marsh out of the bus and the relieved murmurings of her fellow passengers on the second deck. The bus moved on again, gathering speed, until — BANG. They were rolling through a snowy Hogsmeade. Christina caught a glimpse of the Hog's Head down its side street, the severed boar's head sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hit the large window at the front of the bus. At last they rolled to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts but Christina couldn't shake the image of Sirius saying she hated his best friend and her uncle.

Lupin and Tonks helped them off the bus with their luggage and then got off to say good-bye. Christina glanced up at the three decks of the Knight Bus and saw all the passengers staring down at them, noses flat against the windows.

"You'll be safe once you're in the grounds," said Tonks, casting a careful eye around at the deserted road. "Have a good term, okay?"

"Look after yourselves," said Lupin, shaking hands all round and reaching Christina last. "And listen . . ." He lowered his voice while the rest of them exchanged last-minute good-byes with Tonks, "Christina, I know you don't like Snape, but he is a superb Occlumens and we all — Sirius included — want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, all right?"

"Yeah, all right," said Christina heavily, looking up into Lupin's prematurely lined face. Christina looked up to Lupin, unsure of what to say. He seemed to be equally at a loss for words, maybe they were similar after all. . .

"See you, then-"

"-I don't hate you." Christina interrupted. Lupin looked down at her sadly and swallowed. Without saying a word, he put both arms around her and held her there. She felt his breath on her head as she held onto the back of his robes. There was a shudder from Lupin and he kissed the top of her head, "I love you very much . . . I just wish I had a better way of showing it. . ." Christina bit her lip and blinked back a tear, she could sense that people were waiting on her but she didn't care. For the first time in a long time, Lupin was acting like a godfather. He pulled away and placed both hands on her shoulders.

"Go on, have a good term. I'll write." This brought Christina such joy, she had a huge smile on her face when she finally said goodbye.

The seven of them struggled up the slippery drive toward the castle dragging their trunks. Hermione was already talking about knitting a few elf hats before bedtime. Christina glanced back when they reached the oak front doors; the Knight Bus had already gone, and she halfwished, given what was coming the following day, that she was still on board. Harry spent most of the next day dreading the evening. Christina considered herself lucky that she would get the details from Harry instead of going in blind for her first lesson. Their morning Potions lesson did nothing to dispel Harry's trepidation, as Snape was as unpleasant as ever, and Harry's mood was further lowered by the fact that members of the D.A. were continually approaching him in the corridors between classes, asking hopefully whether there would be a meeting that night. "I'll let you know when the next one is," Harry said over and over again, "but I can't do it tonight, I've got to go to — er — Remedial Potions. . . ."

"You take Remedial Potions?" asked Zacharias Smith superciliously, having cornered Harry, Christina, Hermione and Ron in the entrance hall after lunch. "Good Lord, you must be terrible, Snape doesn't usually give extra lessons, does he?" As Smith strode away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Christina glared after him. "Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here," she said, raising her wand and taking aim between Smith's shoulder blades.

"Forget it," said Harry dismally. "It's what everyone's going to think, isn't it? That I'm really stup —"

"Hi, Harry," said a voice behind them. He turned around and found Cho standing there.

"Oh," said Harry as his stomach leapt uncomfortably. "Hi."

"We'll be in the library, Harry," said Hermione firmly, and she seized Christina and Ron above the elbow and dragged them off toward the marble staircase.

"Hermione you cannot take me away from my comedy, what else is funnier than Cho and Harry-" Christina teased as they walked to the Library.

"You are so mean! Leave them be, not all of us have a Fred Weasley you know." she said hotly. Christina rolled her eyes, sure that Ron probably had no idea what they were even talking about.

Harry returned not long later and Christina had already started her potions essay. Harry looked positively red in the face when he sat down and it was Hermione who finally pointed it out.

"Well. . . all is, erm, well?" she said hesitantly. Harry's head shot up and Christina tried her best not to laugh. Ron was looked confused and amused at the same time.

"You didn't snog again, did you?" said Ron bluntly. Christina put her head on the table to keep from laughed and Hermione smacked Ron's shoulder.

"Er-well no, actually, we're going out together. On the next Hogsmeade trip-"

"The Valentine's trip?" Hermione spurted out. Christina lifted her head and looked at Harry who was now looking positively green.

"Oh god, what have I done?"

"It'll be alright!" Hermione interjected, trying to calm him down.

"What're we supposed to talk about?" Harry continued, spiraling.

"Talk about the D.A.!"

"Christina, you and Fred have to come with us." Christina's body shot up and she looked Harry dead in the eyes, trying to determine whether or not he was joking. She eyed him and he's sweaty disposition and laughed.

"Nooooo, no. No, god no. Haha, no I'm sorry Harry I would literally never, ever, in my LIFE-"

"You have to! It'll be a total disaster otherwise!"

"Oh it'll be a total disaster regardless-" Hermione kicked Christina in the shin and bit her tongue. After a deep breath she looked again to Harry, "You know what? I'll ask Fred later tonight" This seemed to satiate both Harry and Hermione as they both buried their heads back into their homework. Little did they know Fred would never agree to spend a Hogsmeade trip cooped up with Cho Chang.

Other students, nearly all of them fifth years, sat at lamp-lit tables nearby, noses close to books, quills scratching feverishly, while the sky outside the mullioned windows grew steadily blacker. The only other sound was the slight squeaking of one of Madam Pince's shoes as the librarian prowled the aisles menacingly, breathing down the necks of those touching her precious books. At 6 o'clock Harry went down to his Occlumency lesson and returned only an hour later looking pale, scar showing more, and somehow excited. There's no way Occlumency with Snape could have been fun, could it?

"How did it go?" Christina whispered, and then, looking concerned, "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Yeah . . . fine . . . I dunno," said Harry impatiently. "Listen . . . I've just realized something. . . .that corridor, the one where the snake attacked Mr. Weasley, it's in the Ministry. It's the door to the Department of Mysteries!" They were silent and then Christina had the sudden realization, she had heard that name before when she went to the Ministry of Magic for her hearing! The dream was a real location!

"So . . . so, are you saying . . ." whispered Ron, as Madam Pince swept past, squeaking slightly, "that the weapon — the thing You-Know-Who's after — is in the Ministry of Magic?"

"In the Department of Mysteries, it's got to be," Harry whispered. "Christina and I saw that door when your dad took us down to the courtrooms for our hearing and it's definitely the same one he was guarding when the snake bit him." Hermione let out a long, slow sigh.

"Of course," she breathed.

"Of course what?" said Ron rather impatiently. "Ron, think about it. . . . Sturgis Podmore was trying to get through a door at the Ministry of Magic. . . . It must have been that one, it's too much of a coincidence!"

"How come Sturgis was trying to break in when he's on our side?" said Christina.

"Well, I don't know," Hermione admitted. "That is a bit odd. . . ."

"So what's in the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked Ron. "Has your dad ever mentioned anything about it?"

"I know they call the people who work in there 'Unspeakables,' " said Ron, frowning. "Because no one really seems to know what they do in there. . . . Weird place to have a weapon . . ."

"It's not weird at all, it makes perfect sense," said Hermione. "It will be something top secret that the Ministry has been developing, I expect. . . . Harry, are you sure you're all right?" For Harry had just run both his hands hard over his forehead as though trying to iron it.

"Yeah . . . fine . . ." he said, lowering his hands, which were trembling. "I just feel a bit . . . I don't like Occlumency much. . . ."

"I expect anyone would feel shaky if they'd had their mind attacked over and over again," said Hermione sympathetically. "Look, let's get back to the common room, we'll be a bit more comfortable there. . . ." But the common room was packed and full of shrieks of laughter and excitement; Fred and George were demonstrating their latest bit of joke shop merchandise.

"Headless Hats!" shouted George, as Fred waved a pointed hat decorated with a fluffy pink feather at the watching students. "Two Galleons each — watch Fred, now!" Fred swept the hat onto his head, beaming. For a second he merely looked rather stupid, then both hat and head vanished. Several girls screamed, but everyone else was roaring with laughter.

"And off again!" shouted George, and Fred's hand groped for a moment in what seemed to be thin air over his shoulder; then his head reappeared as he swept the pink-feathered hat from it again.

"How do those hats work, then?" said Hermione, distracted from her homework and watching Fred and George. "I mean, obviously it's some kind of Invisibility Spell, but it's rather clever to have extended the field of invisibility beyond the boundaries of the charmed object. . . . I'd imagine the charm wouldn't have a very long life though. . . ."

"I'm going to have to do this tomorrow," Harry muttered, pushing the books he had just taken out of his bag back inside it.

"Well, write it in your homework planner then!" said Hermione encouragingly. "So you don't forget!" Harry and Ron exchanged looks as he reached into his bag, withdrew the planner and opened it tentatively. "Don't leave it till later, you big second-rater!" chided the book as Harry scribbled down Umbridge's homework. Hermione beamed at it.

"I think I'll go to bed," said Harry, stuffing the homework planner back into his bag. Christina and Hermione exchanged nervous looks, "Does your scar hurt?" Christina shook her head no.

"But I've also been on high-alert with my powers lately, since, you know, the whole event. . . He's probably just tired from the Occlumency." Hermione nodded in agreement but she still seemed nervous as she watched him go into the boy's dormitory. Hermione grabbed Ron's arm, "Go check on him will you? His defenses will be low after Snape went through his mind. . ." Ron groaned and then trudged up the stairs. Christina looked back to Hermione.

"It'll be okay. Give it time."


	24. Chapter 24: Red Rings

Christina and Hermione went together down to the Great Hall for breakfast and when Harry and Ron joined, Harry certainly was not alright the night before.

"Voldemort's happy. Something good had happened" Harry said immediately as he sat down.

"How do you know?" Christina asked putting down her piece of toast.

"Well, after Hermione sent me up to check on him I saw him laughing on the ground . . ." said Ron.

"It was just as before, like a dream but in flashes. He's really happy though." said Harry, breathless. Christina looked to Hermione who was watching her owl fly down the table. _Why did Harry see something and I didn't?_ she wondered. What could Voldemort have done to only show Harry something? Did Voldemort find out about her connection and not Harry's?

When Hermione's Daily Prophet arrived she smoothed it out, gazed for a moment at the front page, and then gave a yelp that caused everyone in the vicinity to stare at her.

"What?" said Christina, Harry and Ron together. For an answer she spread the newspaper on the table in front of them and pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, nine showing wizards' faces and the tenth, a witch's. Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban. _Antonin Dolohov_ , read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at Christina, _convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett_. _Augustus Rookwood_ , said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic Secrets to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But Christina's eyes were drawn to the picture of the witch. Her face had leapt out at her the moment she had seen the page. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though Christina had seen it sleek, thick, and shining. She glared up at her through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Like Sirius, she retained vestiges of great good looks, but something — perhaps Azkaban — had taken most of her beauty. _Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom_. Hermione nudged Christina and Harry and pointed at the headline over the pictures, which Christina, concentrating on Bellatrix, had not yet read.

 **MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS "RALLYING POINT" FOR OLD DEATH EATERS**

"Black?" said Christina loudly. "Not — ?"

"Shhh!" whispered Hermione desperately. "Not so loud — just read it!"

 _The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban. Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening, and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals. "We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped," said Fudge last night. "Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals and beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached."_

"There you are, Harry," said Ron, looking awestruck. "That's why he was happy last night. . . ."

"I don't believe this," snarled Harry, "Fudge is blaming the breakout on Sirius?"

"What other options does he have?" said Hermione bitterly. "He can hardly say, 'Sorry everyone, Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban guards have joined Lord Voldemort' — stop whimpering, Ron — 'and now Voldemort's worst supporters have broken out too.' I mean, he's spent a good six months telling everyone you two and Dumbledore are liars, hasn't he?" Hermione ripped open the newspaper and began to read the report inside while Christina looked around the Great Hall. She could not understand why her fellow students were not looking scared or at least discussing the terrible piece of news on the front page, but very few of them took the newspaper every day like Hermione. There they all were, talking about homework and Quidditch and who knew what other rubbish, and outside these walls ten more Death Eaters had swollen Voldemort's ranks. . . . She glanced up at the staff table. It was a different story here: Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deep in conversation, both looking extremely grave. Professor Sprout had the Prophet propped against a bottle of ketchup and was reading the front page with such concentration that she was not noticing the gentle drip of egg yolk falling into her lap from her stationary spoon. Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, Professor Umbridge was tucking into a bowl of porridge. For once her pouchy toad's eyes were not sweeping the Great Hall looking for misbehaving students. She scowled as she gulped down her food and every now and then she shot a malevolent glance up the table to where Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking so intently.

"Oh my —" said Hermione wonderingly, still staring at the newspaper.

"What now?" said Christina quickly; he was feeling jumpy.

"It's . . . horrible," said Hermione, looking shaken. She folded back page ten of the newspaper and handed it back to Christina, Harry and Ron.

 **TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER**

 _St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderick Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a potted-plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death. Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement, "St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident. "We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare, which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode, throttled him instantly. "St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward."_

"Bode . . ." said Ron. "Bode. It rings a bell. . . ."

"We saw him," Hermione whispered. "In St. Mungo's, remember? He was in the bed opposite Lockhart's, just lying there, staring at the ceiling. And we saw the Devil's Snare arrive. She — the Healer — said it was a Christmas present. . . ." Christina looked back at the story. A feeling of horror was rising like bile in her throat.

"How come we didn't recognize Devil's Snare . . . ? We've seen it before . . . we could've stopped this from happening . . ." said Harry.

"Who expects Devil's Snare to turn up in a hospital disguised as a potted plant?" said Ron sharply. "It's not our fault, whoever sent it to the bloke is to blame! They must be a real prat, why didn't they check what they were buying?"

"Oh come on, Ron!" said Hermione shakily, "I don't think anyone could put Devil's Snare in a pot and not realize it tries to kill whoever touches it? This — this was murder. . . . A clever murder, as well. . . . If the plant was sent anonymously, how's anyone ever going to find out who did it?" Christina was not thinking about Devil's Snare. She was remembering taking the lift down to the ninth level of the Ministry on the day of her hearing, and the sallow-faced man who had got in on the Atrium level.

"I met Bode," she said slowly. "I saw him at the Ministry with your dad . . ." Ron's mouth fell open.

"I've heard Dad talk about him at home! He was an Unspeakable — he worked in the Department of Mysteries!" They looked at one another for a moment, then Hermione pulled the newspaper back toward her, closed it, glared for a moment at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters on the front, then leapt to her feet.

"Where are you going?" said Ron, startled.

"To send a letter," said Hermione, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. "It . . . well, I don't know whether . . . but it's worth trying . . . and I'm the only one who can . . ."

"I hate it when she does that," grumbled Ron as he, Christina and Harry got up from the table and made their own, slower way out of the Great Hall. "Would it kill her to tell us what she's up to for once? It'd take her about ten more seconds — hey, Hagrid!" Hagrid was standing beside the doors into the entrance hall, waiting for a crowd of Ravenclaws to pass. He was still as heavily bruised as he had been on the day he had come back from his mission to the giants and there was a new cut right across the bridge of his nose.

"All righ', you three?" he said, trying to muster a smile but managing only a kind of pained grimace.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" asked Harry, following him as he lumbered after the Ravenclaws.

"Fine, fine," said Hagrid with a feeble assumption of airiness; he waved a hand and narrowly missed concussing a frightened-looking Professor Vector, who was passing. "Jus' busy, yeh know, usual stuff — lessons ter prepare — couple o' salamanders got scale rot — an' I'm on probation," he mumbled.

"You're on probation?" said Christina very loudly, so that many students passing looked around curiously. "Sorry — I mean — you're on probation?" she whispered.

"Yeah," said Hagrid. " 'S'no more'n I expected, ter tell yeh the truth. Yeh migh' not've picked up on it, bu' that inspection didn' go too well, yeh know . . . anyway," he sighed deeply. "Bes' go an rub a bit more chili powder on them salamanders or their tails'll be hangin' off 'em next. See yeh, Harry . . . Ron . . .Christina" He trudged away, out the front doors and down the stone steps into the damp grounds. Christina watched him go, wondering how much more bad news she could stand and then remembered her first Occlumency lesson was that night with Snape.

After a stressful day of classes and homework guided by Hermione with the distraction of Fred having her test new joke shop material, 6 o'clock came and she headed for the dungeon. She paused outside the door when she reached it, wishing she were almost anywhere else, then, taking a deep breath, knocked, and entered.

It was a shadowy room lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which floated slimy bits of animals and plants, suspended in variously colored potions. In a corner stood the cupboard full of ingredients that Snape had once accused Christina — not without reason — of robbing. Christina's attention was drawn toward the desk, however, where a shallow stone basin engraved with runes and symbols lay in a pool of candlelight. Christina recognized it at once — Dumbledore's Pensieve. Wondering what on earth it was doing here, she jumped when Snape's cold voice came out of the corner.

"Shut the door behind you, Bataskill." Christina did as she was told with the horrible feeling that she was imprisoning herself as she did so. When she turned back to face the room Snape had moved into the light and was pointing silently at the chair opposite his desk. Christina sat down and so did Snape, his cold black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Christina, dislike etched in every line of his face.

"Well, Bataskill, you know why you are here," he said. "The headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than Potter."

"Right," said Christina tersely.

"This may not be an ordinary class, Bataskill," said Snape, his eyes narrowed malevolently, "but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me 'sir' or 'Professor' at all times."

"Yes . . . sir," said Christina.

"Now, Occlumency. As I told you back in your Potter's godfather's kitchen, this branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence."

"And why does Professor Dumbledore think I need it, sir?" said Christina, looking directly into Snape's dark, cold eyes and wondering whether he would answer. Snape looked back at her for a moment and then said contemptuously, "Surely even you could have worked that out by now, Bataskill? The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency —"

"What's that? Sir?"

"It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind —"

"He can read minds?" said Christina quickly, her worst fears confirmed.

"You have no subtlety, Bataskill," said Snape, his dark eyes glittering. "You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker." Snape paused for a moment, apparently to savor the pleasure of insulting Christina, before continuing, "Only Muggles talk of 'mind reading.' The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Bataskill . . . or at least, most minds are. . . ." He smirked. "It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so utter falsehoods in his presence without detection." Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded like mind reading to Christina and she did not like the sound of it at all.

"So he could know what we're thinking right now? Sir?"

"The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them," said Snape. "Time and space matter in magic, Bataskill. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency."

"Well then, why do I have to learn Occlumency?" Snape eyed Christina, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so.

"The usual rules do not seem to apply with you, Bataskill. The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you, Potter, and the Dark Lord. The evidence suggests that at times, when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable — when you are asleep, for instance — you are sharing the Dark Lord's thoughts and emotions. The headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue. He wishes me to teach you how to close your mind to the Dark Lord." Christina's heart was pumping fast again. None of this added up.

"Harry can share his emotions and thoughts during the day but I can only do it when I sleep, is that because of my natural powers? And why does Professor Dumbledore want to stop it?" she asked abruptly. "I don't like it much, but it's been useful, hasn't it? I mean . . . I saw that snake attack Mr. Weasley and if I hadn't, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to save him, would he? Sir?" Snape stared at Christina for a few moments, still tracing his mouth with his finger. When he spoke again, it was slowly and deliberately, as though he weighed every word.

"It appears that the Dark Lord has been unaware of the connection between you and himself until very recently. Up till now it seems that you have been experiencing his emotions and sharing his thoughts without his being any the wiser. However, the vision you had shortly before Christmas —"

"The one with the snake and Mr. Weasley?"

"Do not interrupt me, Bataskill," said Snape in a dangerous voice. "As I was saying . . . the vision you had shortly before Christmas represented such a powerful incursion upon the Dark Lord's thoughts —"

"I saw inside the snake's head, not his!"

"I thought I just told you not to interrupt me, Bataskill?" But Christina did not care if Snape was angry; at last she seemed to be getting to the bottom of this business. She had moved forward in her chair so that, without realizing it, she was perched on the very edge, tense as though poised for flight.

"How come I saw through the snake's eyes if it's Voldemort's thoughts I'm sharing?"

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name!" spat Snape. There was a nasty silence. They glared at each other across the Pensieve.

"Professor Dumbledore says his name," said Christina quietly.

"Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard," Snape muttered. "While he may feel secure enough to use the name . . . the rest of us . . ." He rubbed his left forearm, apparently unconsciously, on the spot where Christina knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin.

"I just wanted to know," Christina began again, forcing her voice back to politeness, "why —"

"You seem to have visited the snake's mind because that was where the Dark Lord was at that particular moment," snarled Snape. "He was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it too. . . ."

"And Vol — he — realized I was there?"

"It seems so," said Snape coolly.

"How do you know?" said Christina urgently. "Is this just Professor Dumbledore guessing, or — ?"

"I told you," said Snape, rigid in his chair, his eyes slits, "to call me 'sir.' "

"Yes, sir," said Christina impatiently, "but how do you know — ?"

"It is enough that we know," said Snape repressively. "The important point is that the Dark Lord is now aware that you are gaining access to his thoughts and feelings. He has also deduced that the process is likely to work in reverse; that is to say, he has realized that he might be able to access your thoughts and feelings in return —"

"And he might try and make me do things?" asked Christina. "Sir?" she added hurriedly.

"He might," said Snape, sounding cold and unconcerned. "Which brings us back to Occlumency." Snape pulled out his wand from an inside pocket of his robes and Christina tensed in her chair, but Snape merely raised the wand to his temple and placed its tip into the greasy roots of his hair. When he withdrew it, some silvery substance came away, stretching from temple to wand like a thick gossamer strand, which broke as he pulled the wand away from it and fell gracefully into the Pensieve, where it swirled silvery white, neither gas nor liquid. Twice more Snape raised the wand to his temple and deposited the silvery substance into the stone basin, then, without offering any explanation of his behavior, he picked up the Pensieve carefully, removed it to a shelf out of their way and returned to face Christina with his wand held at the ready.

"Stand up and take out your wand, Bataskill." Christina got to her feet feeling nervous. They faced each other with the desk between them. "You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of . . ." said Snape. She knew he was referring to her natural power but the way he phrased it made it almost seem like he was afraid of it.

"And what are you going to do?" Christina asked, eyeing Snape's wand apprehensively.

"I am about to attempt to break into your mind," said Snape softly. "We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse. . . . You will find that similar powers are needed for this. . . . Brace yourself, now. . . . Legilimens!"

Just like the Imperius Curse, the spell rebounded off of her and shot out and hit the wall leaving a scorch mark. Snape took a deep breath and lowered his wand.

"Just as I suspected." he said slowly and Christina saw a small smile creep over his face. He ran his fingers over the length of his wand and then looked back to Christina, "We'll have to restrain your powers for this to work."

"But-they protect me! Sir!" she added quickly, now panicking. She hated not having the back-up of her powers, she never felt more vulnerable.

"And what if you didn't have them? You have to learn not to rely on them. Now sit." he said nastily and pointed to the chair behind her. She turned to the chair and bumped into it as Snape closed in.

"How am I supposed to-" but Snape was already aiming his wand at her and uttered some phrase that sounded Italian and the red rings formed around her wrists. She was powerless.

"Brace yourself. Legilimens!"Snape had struck before Christina was ready, before Christina had even begun to summon any force of resistance: the office swam in front of her eyes and vanished, image after image was racing through her mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded her to her surroundings. . . . She was five, getting caught lying in front of the class, they laughed at her. . . . She was nine, and her adopted father hit her across the face for stealing. . . . She was in Dumbledore's office in her third year being told about her natural powers and how she couldn't use them. . . . Her first Quidditch match and a bludger to the face . . . A hundred dementors were closing in on her beside the dark lake. . . . Fred Weasley beckoning her to come with him into a closet. . . . No, said a voice in Christina's head, as the memory of Fred drew nearer, you're not watching that, you're not watching it, it's private — She felt a sharp pain in her knee. Snape's office had come back into view and she realized that she had fallen to the floor; one of her knees had collided painfully with the leg of Snape's desk. She looked up at Snape, who had lowered his wand and was rubbing his wrist. There was an angry weal there, like a scorch mark.

"Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?" asked Snape coolly.

"No," said Christina bitterly, getting up from the floor.

"I thought not," said Snape contemptuously. "You let me get in too far. You lost control."

"Did you see everything I saw?" Christina asked, unsure whether she wanted to hear the answer.

"Flashes of it," said Snape, his lip curling. "To whom were you playing Quidditch against?"

"Slytherin," Christina muttered, hating Snape.

"I thought so. Well, for a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been," said Snape, raising his wand once more. "You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand."

"I'm trying," said Christina angrily, "but you're not telling me how!"

"Manners, Bataskill," said Snape dangerously. "Now, I want you to close your eyes." Christina threw him a filthy look before doing as she was told. She did not like the idea of standing there with her eyes shut and powerless while Snape faced her, carrying a wand.

"Clear your mind, Bataskill," said Snape's cold voice. "Let go of all emotion. . . ." But Christina's anger at Snape continued to pound through her veins like venom. Let go of her anger? She could as easily detach her legs. . . .

"You're not doing it, Bataskill. . . . You will need more discipline than this. . . . Focus, now. . . ." Christina tried to empty her mind, tried not to think, or remember, or feel. . . .

"Let's go again . . . on the count of three . . . one — two — three — Legilimens!" she flourished her wand but Snape's spell hit first. A great blue-grey dragon was eyeing her from the arena. . . . Lupin hugging her in his office. . . . Cedric Diggory was lying on the ground with blank eyes staring at her . . . .

"NOOOOOOO!" She was on her knees again, her face buried in her hands, her brain aching as though someone had been trying to pull it from her skull.

"Get up!" said Snape sharply. "Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!" Christina stood up again, her heart thumping wildly as though she had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Christina was.

"I — am — making — an — effort," she said through clenched teeth.

"I told you to empty yourself of emotion!"

"Yeah? Well, I'm finding that hard at the moment," Christina snarled.

"Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!" said Snape savagely. "Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Bataskill!"

"I am not weak," said Christina in a low voice, fury now pumping through her so that she thought she might attack Snape in a moment.

"Then prove it! Master yourself!" spat Snape. "Control your anger, discipline your mind! We shall try again! Get ready, now! Legilimens!" She was waiting for her owl to come through the window. . . . She watched Lupin transform into a werewolf. . . . She and Fred were flying down to the dungeons . . . . . into Snape's office . . . . she knew what was coming next and tried to force herself out of the spell but she could feel Snape prying further. . . . .she sat on the table . . . .

"GET OUT!" her eyes flicked back into reality and she saw Snape watching her intently. Christina was on the ground panting, hand heaving over her chest. Christina's scar seared again, but she did not care. Snape looked agitated. When he spoke again he sounded as though he was trying to appear cool and unconcerned.

"I want you back here same time on Thursday, and we will continue work then."

"Fine," said Christina. She was desperate to get out of there and run, make sure Snape never found out that she and Fred once slept together in there and saw Snape pleasuring himself.

"You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep — empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?"

"Yes," said Christina, who was barely listening.

"And be warned, Bataskill . . . I shall know if you have not practiced . . ."

"Right," Christina mumbled. She picked up her schoolbag, swung it over her shoulder, and hurried toward the office door. As she opened it she glanced back at Snape, who had his back to Christina and was scooping his own thoughts out of the Pensieve with the tip of his wand and replacing them carefully inside his own head. Christina left without another word, closing the door carefully behind her, her scar still throbbing painfully.

She went to go disappear into a cloud of dust to get to the Gryffindor common room faster but her feet remained on the floor. _Oh shit._ She had forgotten about the red rings keeping her natural powers at bay. She rapped on Snape's door and heard an annoyed exhale. Snape ripped the door open and stared at Christina, scowling.

"You forgot to take these off, sir." she said trying her hardest to sound polite. Christina held up her wrists and he eyed them and then slowly met her gaze again.

"Not so high and mighty without them, hm?" he said coldly with a small smile creeping up onto his face.

"No, sir. Please, may you take them off?" said Christina, again cautiously feigning sincerity. Christina knew Snape was loving every second of having the power to remove hers but she knew that Dumbledore wouldn't want Umbridge or the other students to find out about her natural powers so she knew Snape would have to take them off. The corners of his mouth were curling and she didn't know how much longer she could stand to look at him.

"You could stand a dose of humility." Snape slammed the door shut in her face. She stood there awestruck in front of the door, mouth agape.

"But sir! Umbridge will find out!" she called through the door. She heard Snape's footsteps stop and the door opened again. Only his head showed through the door and again he eyed her suspiciously looking again to her wrists which she held out approvingly.

"Good." and again, the door slammed shut. Her mind was scrambling, how long could Snape keep that up? Surely he wouldn't want Umbridge to find out. . .the whole school was against her. . .then again Snape had an affinity for being on the wrong team. . . Christina turned and ran up the dungeon stairs. As she ran she took off her robe and wrapped them around her wrists so that no one could see the rings and went straight to Professor McGonagall's office. It was freezing without her robe but she didn't care. . . she couldn't _not_ have her powers. . .

She reached McGonagall's door and ripped it open and saw Professor McGonagall at her desk and a pink-clad Umbridge standing in front of her, back to Christina. Umbridge turned around, red-faced with anger.

"Students will knock when they want to enter a room Ms. Bataskill."

"I-I wanted to speak with Professor McGonagall." Christina said slowly, realizing how odd she looked with a robe wrapped around her arms.

"Go ahead." said Umbridge. Christina looked to Professor McGonagall who lips were pursed and she was staring Christina down, as though telling her to not say anything important.

"Professor. . . there's a boy, er, in the girl's dormitory." It was the only thing she could think of.

"Why are your robes around your arms?" Umbridge asked, ignoring the question.

"Oh. . .this? I, er, well, I forgot to bring gloves."

"You were wearing gloves in Care of Magical Creatures class."

"New gloves. Those gloves, as I found out after wearing them, couldn't protect me from the . . . cold." Christina saw McGonagall slowly close her eyes and pinch the bridge of her nose.

"So you opted to remove your robe, and wrap it around your arms, leaving your shoulders and back bare to the cold." said Umbridge, now tapping her foot.

"Odd, right? But, yeah . . . it's worked so far." Christina said smiling awkwardly. Why couldn't somebody walk in and interrupt? Anything would be better than this.

"May I see your robe?" Umbridge held out her hand. Christina's heart beat fast and she looked to McGonagall for help. But how could she convey the message without alerting Umbridge?

" _Naturally_. You have the _power_ to do so." Umbridge's eyebrows furrowed and McGonagall looked equally confused. However, Umbridge was now moving to Christina and she stepped back slightly.

"I definitely couldn't _control your power_ to do that. I could _ring_ in-" Umbridge kept moving closer to Christina and Christina continued to slowly move backwards.

"Enough! Come here, now." Umbridge stopped in front of her and Christina looked again to Professor McGonagall for help.

"Dolores, I believe Ms. Bataskill has had an . . . accident." Professor McGonagall said standing up. Umbridge looked back from McGonagall to Christina and Christina tried to decipher what accident meant. She wet her robes? Got blood on her robes? Her . . wrists! Just then Christina pretend-tripped on the desk behind her and in a split second slashed her wrist a few times closer to her elbow with a cutting-spell. Umbridge grabbed her by the upper-arm and dragged her up.

"She's right," and Christina slid down part of the robes so that they still covered her wrists and showed Umbridge the cuts to which Christina also noticed were slightly deeper than she originally bargained for, "I've just been feeling so . . . depressed." Christina sniffed, faking a sort-of almost cry and looked to Umbridge, trying to look her saddest. Umbridge looked at her bewildered.

"Go to Madame Pomfrey at once! And don't do this again, it's utterly pointless." Umbridge then turned on her heel and went to the door and opened it, but before she left she turned to address Professor McGonagall.

"And Minerva, don't forget what we discussed." and she left the office, shutting the door behind her. After a few seconds of silence Christina started to feel slightly dizzy and looked at her arms which were now pouring with blood. Professor McGonagall rose from her desk and came over to Christina.

"My lord, Bataskill, what on earth did you need?" she said and Christina let the robes drop to the floor to which Professor McGonagall let out a soft gasp.

"Snape put the rings-"

"Well I can see that!" she waved her wand and said a different, still Italian, phrase and the rings vanished, "Why in heaven's sake would you gash your arm like that?" Christina felt her head start to swim and Professor McGonagall grabbed her shoulders to stabilize her.

"It was the only thing I could think to get her out of here . . . what did she. . .- " but before she could formulate any more words, the room toppled over to one side and she felt her whole body succumb to darkness.


	25. Chapter 25: Fiasco

Christina awoke in a dark haze and saw the blurry outlines of two people, as she blinked they came into focus. Hermione had her arms folded and was looking outright enraged and Fred was there with a big grin.

"You are such an idiot sometimes, I swear!" said Hermione, hitting Christina with a wrapped up newspaper.

"Good morning to you too. . . what time is it?" said Christina, propping herself up on the pillows behind her.

"It's 10:30 at night. You haven't been out long," said Fred, "McGonagall told us everything, you cut your wrists to escape Umbridge?" Christina gave a small laugh, "Yeah."

"Genius."

"No, it is not genius! You could have seriously hurt yourself Christina! You have to be more careful!" said Hermione. Fred leaned down and kissed her and quietly said, "I still think it was pretty genius . . . " but Hermione had heard.

"You two are unbelievable! It's like you have a death wish. Now how was your Occlumency lesson?" Christina groaned and recanted to story to them, ending it with the fact that she would have to return Thursday night.

"Well it's for the best. Professor Dumbledore knows what's best. Now let's get you back to the common room" and Hermione lifted up her sheets and helped her out of bed and back into the common room.

The fact that Hagrid was now on probation became common knowledge within the school over the next few days, but to Christina's indignation, hardly anybody appeared to be upset about it; indeed, some people, Draco Malfoy prominent among them, seemed positively gleeful. As for the freakish death of an obscure Department of Mysteries employee in St. Mungo's, Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione seemed to be the only people who knew or cared. There was only one topic of conversation in the corridors now: the ten escaped Death Eaters, whose story had finally filtered through the school from those few people who read the newspapers. Rumors were flying that some of the convicts had been spotted in Hogsmeade, that they were supposed to be hiding out in the Shrieking Shack and that they were going to break into Hogwarts, just as Sirius Black had done. Those who came from Wizarding families had grown up hearing the names of these Death Eaters spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemort's; the crimes they had committed during the days of Voldemort's reign of terror were legendary. There were relatives of 'their victims among the Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walked the corridors: Susan Bones, who had an uncle, aunt, and cousins who had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Christina.

"And I don't know how you stand it, it's horrible," she said bluntly, dumping far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in discomfort. It was true that Christina was the subject of much renewed muttering and pointing in the corridors these days, yet she thought she detected a slight difference in the tone of the whisperers' voices. They sounded curious rather than hostile now, and once or twice she was sure he overheard snatches of conversation that suggested that the speakers were not satisfied with the Prophet's version of how and why ten Death Eaters had managed to break out of Azkaban fortress. In their confusion and fear, these doubters now seemed to be turning to the only other explanation available to them, the one that Christina, Harry and Dumbledore had been expounding since the previous year. It was not only the students' mood that had changed. It was now quite common to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching.

"They obviously can't talk freely in the staffroom anymore," said Hermione in a low voice, as she, Christina, Harry, and Ron passed Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom one day. "Not with Umbridge there."

"Reckon they know anything new?" said Ron, gazing back over his shoulder at the three teachers.

"If they do, we're not going to hear about it, are we?" said Harry angrily.

"Not after Decree . . . What number are we on now?" asked Christina. For new signs had appeared on the house notice boards the morning after news of the Azkaban breakout:

— BY ORDER OF —

The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.

 _The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-six._

Signed:

Dolores Jane Umbridge

HIGH INQUISITOR

This latest decree had been the subject of a great number of jokes among the students. Lee Jordan had pointed out to Umbridge that by the terms of the new rule she was not allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap in the back of the class.

"Exploding Snap's got nothing to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That's not information relating to your subject!" When Christina next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly. Christina recommended essence of murtlap. Christina had thought that the breakout from Azkaban might have humbled Umbridge a little, that she might have been abashed at the catastrophe that had occurred right under her beloved Fudge's nose. It seemed, however, to have only intensified her furious desire to bring every aspect of life at Hogwarts under her personal control. She 'seemed determined at the very least to achieve a sacking before long, and the only question was whether it would be Professor Trelawney or Hagrid who went first. Every single Divination and Care of Magical Creatures lesson was now conducted in the presence of Umbridge and her clipboard. She lurked by the fire in the heavily perfumed tower room, interrupting Professor Trelawney's increasingly hysterical talks with difficult questions about Ornithomancy and Heptomology, insisting that she predict students' answers before they gave them and demanding that she demonstrate her skill at the crystal ball, the tea leaves, and the rune stones in turn. Christina thought that Professor Trelawney might soon crack under the strain; several times she passed her in the corridors (in itself a very unusual occurrence as she generally remained in her tower room), muttering wildly to herself, wringing her hands, and shooting terrified glances over her shoulder, all the time giving off a powerful smell of cooking sherry. If Christina had not been so worried about Hagrid, she would have felt sorry for her — but if one of them was to be ousted out of a job, there could be only one choice for Christina as to who should remain. Unfortunately, Christina could not see that Hagrid was putting up a better show than Trelawney. Though he seemed to be following Hermione's advice and had shown them nothing more frightening than a crup, a creature indistinguishable from a Jack Russell terrier except for its forked tail, since before Christmas, he also seemed to have lost his nerve. He was oddly distracted and jumpy in lessons, losing the thread of what he was saying while talking to the class, answering questions wrongly and glancing anxiously at Umbridge all the time. He was also more distant with Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione than he had ever been before, expressly forbidding them to visit him after dark.

"If she catches yeh, it'll be all of our necks on the line," he told them flatly, and with no desire to do anything that jeopardized his job further, they abstained from walking down to his hut in the evenings. It seemed to Christina that Umbridge was steadily depriving her of everything that made her life at Hogwarts worth living. She took her revenge the only way she had: redoubling her efforts for the D.A. Christina was pleased to see that all of them, even Zacharias Smith, had been spurred to work harder than ever by the news that ten more Death Eaters were now on the loose, but in nobody was this improvement more pronounced than in Neville. The news of his parents' attacker's escape had wrought a strange and even slightly alarming change in him. He had not once mentioned his meeting with Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the closed ward in St. Mungo's, and taking their lead from him, they had kept quiet about it too. Nor had he said anything on the subject of Bellatrix and her fellow torturers' escape; in fact, he barely spoke during D.A. meetings anymore, but worked relentlessly on every new jinx and countercurse Christina and Harry taught them, his plump face screwed up in concentration, apparently indifferent to injuries or accidents, working harder than anyone else in the room. He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Christina taught them the Shield Charm, a means of deflecting minor jinxes so that they rebounded upon the attacker, only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville. In fact Christina would have given a great deal to be making as much progress at Occlumency as Neville was making during D.A. meetings.

Christina's sessions with Snape, which had started badly enough, were not improving; on the contrary, Christina felt she was getting worse with every lesson. Before she had started studying Occlumency, her scar had prickled occasionally, always during the night, or else following one of those strange flashes of Voldemort's thoughts or moods that she experienced rarely. Nowadays, however, her scar hardly ever stopped prickling, she had the horrible impression that she was slowly turning into a kind of aerial that was tuned in to tiny fluctuations in Voldemort's mood, and she was sure she could date this increased sensitivity firmly from her first Occlumency lesson with Snape. What was more, she was now dreaming about walking down the corridor toward the entrance to the Department of Mysteries almost every night, dreams that always culminated in her standing longingly in front of the plain black door.

"Maybe it's a bit like an illness," said Hermione, looking concerned when Christina confided in her, Harry and Ron. "A fever or something. It has to get worse before it gets better." Harry had been feeling exactly the same, the same dreams, the same feelings, but his seemed almost amplified.

"It's lessons with Snape that are making it worse," said Harry flatly. "I'm getting sick of my scar hurting, and I'm getting bored walking down that corridor every night." He rubbed his forehead angrily.

"I just wish the door would open, I'm sick of standing staring at it —" Christina added.

"That's not funny," said Hermione sharply. "Dumbledore doesn't want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn't have asked Snape to teach you both Occlumency. You're just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons."

"I am working!" said Harry, nettled.

"You try it sometime, Snape trying to get inside your head, it's not a bundle of laughs, you know!" Christina retorted.

"Maybe . . ." said Ron slowly.

"Maybe what?" said Hermione rather snappishly.

"Maybe it's not their fault they can't close their minds," said Ron darkly.

"What do you mean?" said Hermione.

"Well, maybe Snape isn't really trying to help them. . . ." Christina, Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one another. "Maybe," he said again in a lower voice, "he's actually trying to open their minds a bit wider . . . make it easier for You-Know —"

"Shut up, Ron," said Hermione angrily. "How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough."

"He used to be a Death Eater," said Ron stubbornly. "And we've never seen proof that he really swapped sides. . . ."

"Dumbledore trusts him," Hermione repeated. "And if we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anyone." With so much to worry about and so much to do — startling amounts of homework that frequently kept the fifth years working until past midnight, secret D.A. meetings, and regular classes with Snape — January seemed to be passing alarmingly fast. Before Christina knew it, February had arrived, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather and the prospect of the second Hogsmeade visit of the year.

Christina, Harry, Ron, Fred, George and Ginny were all eating breakfast together the morning of the 14th when the owl post came in. Tulip was not there — not that she had expected her — but Hermione was tugging a letter from the beak of an unfamiliar brown owl as she sat down.

"And about time! If it hadn't come today . . ." she said eagerly, tearing open the envelope and pulling out a small piece of parchment. Her eyes sped from left to right as she read through the message and a grimly pleased expression spread across her face.

"Listen, Christina, Harry," she said, looking up at them. "This is really important. . . . Do you think you could meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday?"

"How important is important?" asked Christina. Fred nudged Christina, "It's Valentine's Day, Hermione. I'm surprised you're even seeing us now." Fred said slyly winking at Hermione. Hermione rolled her eyes and looked to Harry.

"Well . . . I dunno," said Harry dubiously. "Cho might be expecting me to spend the whole day with her. We never said what we were going to do. Oh Christina, did you ask Fred?" '

"Ask me what?" asked Fred. Christina smiled, "Hey Fred, want to go on a double date with Harry and Cho on Valentine's Day?" Fred let out a hearty laugh.

"Yeah, sure!"

"WHAT!" Christina roared, sending daggers to Fred.

"Perfect! It's settled." said Harry, pleased. Christina gave Fred a dirty look but Fred whispered in her ear, "Think of how much fun we can have messing with them! We could snog the whole time or we could fight the whole time, or we could say just extraordinarily dirty things to one another . . ." Christina contemplated this and it _could_ be fun but she still grumbled.

"Well, bring Cho along if you must," said Hermione urgently. "But will you come?"

"Well . . . all right, but why?" said Harry.

"I haven't got time to tell you now, I've got to answer this quickly —" And she hurried out of the Great Hall, the letter clutched in one hand and a piece of uneaten toast in the other.

"Are you coming?" Harry asked Ron, but he shook his head, looking glum. "I can't come into Hogsmeade at all, Angelina wants a full day's training. Like it's going to help — we're the worst team I've ever seen. You should see Sloper and Kirke, they're pathetic, even worse than I am." He heaved a great sigh. "I dunno why Angelina won't just let me resign. . . ."

"It's because you're good when you're on form, that's why," said Harry irritably. Christina rolled her eyes. She found it very hard to be sympathetic to Ron's plight when she herself would have given almost anything to be playing in the forthcoming match against Hufflepuff. Ron seemed to notice Harry's tone, because he did not mention Quidditch again during breakfast, and there was a slight frostiness in the way they said good-bye to each other shortly afterward. Ron departed for the Quidditch pitch with Ginny, George headed out of the Great Hall with Lee, and Harry went to the bathroom leaving Fred and Christina alone at the table.

"What the fuck, Fred?"

"Oh come on, it'll be fun. I promise. I'll make it fun" she glared at him, "And I've got a surprise for you tonight." He finished smiling. She sighed and finished her toast.

"We should just be the most obnoxious couple ever."

"Yeah! That's the spirit!"

"Cause the only reason why Harry needs me to come along is cause he wants a buffer in case the conversation runs stale . . ."

"We could make it really awkward."

"Okay, now this does seem funny. Wait, let me get on lipstick."

"Oh, I've got something to make it better, too!" Fred and Christina both ran up to the Gryffindor common room, Christina returning wearing ruby red lipstick and Fred returning with a bouquet of roses. Christina blushed.

"Where did you get those!" she said while accepting the roses.

"Ordered them a week ago, they're nice, right?"

"Yeah I love them! Thank you so much!" she planted a kiss on his mouth and she pulled away to see his lips pinker than usual. She laughed, "Wait, come here I can make you look more loved" and she kissed him again on his cheeks and neck. He turned to look in the mirror and laughed.

"You're a genius."

"Why thank you, sir."

"Wait, kiss me here. It'll look amazing." Fred put his arms in the air which lifted his sweater up to reveal a small bit of skin above his trousers. She laughed and reapplied the lipstick to make the kiss mark darker.

"Harry's going to kill me."

Fred and Christina proceeded to the entrance hall to meet Harry and Cho, excited to see what they'd say. They were waiting for them a little to the side of the oak front doors, Cho looking very pretty with her hair tied back in a long ponytail and Harry looking as though he were going to faint.

"Don't you look . . .nice." said Cho slightly breathlessly as Fred and Christina walked over to the pair.

"Well it's Valentines Day, gotta show some love." said Christina smiling at Harry.

"I'd expect no less." he said. There was a pause where Cho seemed to be counting the kiss marks and Fred put his arms over his head to stretch and as his lower kiss mark showed Cho's eyes widened.

"Well — er — shall we go, then?" said Harry loudly.

"Oh — yes . . ." said Cho. The two of them turned to walk to Hogsmeade and Christina turned to Fred, giddy as could be. She hopped on his back as they joined the queue of people being signed out by Filch. Christina started to nibble on Fred's ear and he giggled, making Cho turn around to again be embarrassed by Christina and Fred's open romance.

It was a fresh, breezy sort of day and as they passed the Quidditch stadium, Christina glimpsed Ron and Ginny skimming over the stands and felt a horrible pang that she was not up there with them. . . .

"You really miss it, don't you?" said Cho to Harry.

"Me? Nah, too much flying around. Gets you dizzy." said Fred, Christina covered her face in the crook of his shoulder sniggering.

"Oh, no I meant Harry actually." Cho said politely. Christina kissed his neck again in admiration.

"Yeah," sighed Harry. "I do."

"Remember the first time we played against each other, in the third year?" she asked him.

"Yeah," said Harry, grinning. "You kept blocking me."

"And Wood told you not to be a gentleman and knock me off my broom if you had to," said Cho, smiling reminiscently. "I heard he got taken on by Pride of Portree, is that right?"

"Nah, it was Puddlemere United, I saw him at the World Cup last year."

"Oh, I saw you there too, remember? We were on the same campsite. It was really good, wasn't it?"

As Cho and Harry discussed Quidditch, Christina jumped off his back and created two saucers from the dirt to slide on, "Come on, Fred! Race you!" and she tossed him one of the smooth disks and he placed it on the pavement to Cho's left and Christina to Harry's right.

"Where did she get that?" said Cho quietly to Harry.

Harry sighed. "Must've. . . brought it. . . "

"GO!" they slid off down the icy drive but Christina turned hers towards Fred and they crashed into one another, laughing. Christina returned the disks into dirt.

"I think it's going well." said Fred honestly.

"We're the best." she said, and high-fived Fred. He kissed her roughly in a sort of tackle-like manner and she kissed back, loving every second of it. They got up a moment later, dusting off bits of snow from their jackets. Christina looked up to Harry and Cho who were closer now and right behind them was a large gang of Slytherin girls starting to pass them, including Pansy Parkinson. '

"Potter and Chang!" screeched Pansy to a chorus of snide giggles. "Urgh, Chang, I don't think much of your taste. . . . At least Diggory was good-looking!" They sped up, talking and shrieking in a pointed fashion with many exaggerated glances back at Harry and Cho, leaving an embarrassed silence in their wake. Christina frowned and took revenge by slanting the pavement from underneath them, each Slytherin girl slipped on the ice and fell down. Fred and Christina roared laughing.

"Walk much?" said Christina passing them as they slipped and slid around on the pavement. Christina and Fred met back up with Harry and Cho who were awkwardly standing there in silence.

"So . . . where d'you want to go?" Harry asked as they entered Hogsmeade. The High Street was full of students ambling up and down, peering into the shop windows and messing about together on the pavements.

"Oh . . . I don't mind," said Cho, shrugging. "Um . . . shall we just have a look in the shops or something?" They wandered toward Dervish and Banges. A large poster had been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it. They moved aside when Christina, Fred, Harry and Cho approached and Christina found herself staring once more at the ten pictures of the escaped Death Eaters. The poster ("By Order of the Ministry of Magic") offered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information relating to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured.

"It's funny, isn't it," said Cho in a low voice, also gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters. "Remember when that Sirius Black escaped, and there were dementors all over Hogsmeade looking for him? And now ten Death Eaters are on the loose and there aren't dementors anywhere. . . ."

"Yeah," said Christina, tearing her eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange's face to glance up and down the High Street.

"Yeah, it is weird. . . ." said Harry. She was not sorry that there were no dementors nearby, but now she came to think of it, their absence was highly significant. They had not only let the Death Eaters escape, they were not bothering to look for them. . . . It looked as though they really were outside Ministry control now. The ten escaped Death Eaters were staring out of every shop window they passed. It started to rain as they passed Scrivenshaft's; and Fred put his shirt over Christina's head as they walked through the village.

"Um . . . d'you want to get a coffee?" said Cho tentatively, as the rain began to fall more heavily.

"Yeah, all right," said Harry, looking around. "Where — ?"

"Oh, there's a really nice place just up here, haven't you ever been to Madam Puddifoot's?" she said brightly, and she led them up a side road and into a small tea shop that Christina had only seen once before. She saw it the previous year, and noticed Cho and Cedric inside.

It was a cramped, steamy little place where everything seemed to have been decorated with frills or bows.

"This is what Umbridge's office looks like by the way." she murmured to Fred.

"Cute, isn't it?" said Cho happily.

"Er . . . yeah," said Harry untruthfully.

"Look, she's decorated it for Valentine's Day!" said Cho, indicating a number of golden cherubs that were hovering over each of the small, circular tables, occasionally throwing pink confetti over the occupants.

"Aaah . . ." said Fred.

They sat down at the last remaining table, which was situated in the steamy window. Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, was sitting about a foot and a half away with a pretty blonde girl. They were holding hands. Christina looked around the shop and saw that it was full of nothing but couples, all of them holding hands. Christina and Fred joined suit, however Harry didn't pick up the hint.

"What can I get you, m'dears?" said Madam Puddifoot, a very stout woman with a shiny black bun, squeezing between their table and Roger Davies's with great difficulty.

"Four coffees, please," said Cho. Christina looked to Fred to see if he also picked up on Cho ordered for them but he seemed to be deep in thought. . . what was he up to . . .

In the time it took for their coffees to arrive, Roger Davies and his girlfriend started kissing over their sugar bowl and Cho turned her head to Christina and Fred.

"So how long have you two been together?" she asked awkwardly, trying to fill the silence. Fred was still in a daze so Christina answered.

"Uhh, what's it been . . . a year and, oh god, okay we got together last last May . . . so almost two years! Oh wow, I didn't even realize that."

"You two don't do anniversaries? I love anniversaries."

"We're just . . . so busy being in love . . . everyday is an anniversary." Fred said, shaken out of his daze. Cho awed and Christina saw Harry roll his eyes.

After a few painful minutes of silence Cho mentioned Umbridge; Harry seized on the subject with relief and they passed a few happy moments abusing her, but the subject had already been so thoroughly canvassed during D.A. meetings it did not last very long. Silence fell again. Christina was very conscious of the slurping noises coming from the table next door.

"Er . . . listen, d'you want to come with me to the Three Broomsticks at lunchtime? I'm meeting Hermione Granger there." Cho raised her eyebrows.

"You're meeting Hermione Granger? Today?" Christina's eyes widened as Fred gave her direct eye contact, both of them fearfully grimacing.

"Yeah. Well, she asked me to, so I thought I would. D'you want to come with me? She said it wouldn't matter if you did."

"Oh . . . well . . . that was nice of her." But Cho did not sound as though she thought it was nice at all; on the contrary, her tone was cold and all of a sudden she looked rather forbidding.

"Christina and Fred are going."

"Well apparently Christina and Fred go wherever you go so . . . " Christina bit her lip, feeling the unkindness from Cho. Fred looked to Christina to try and see if they should leave but she shook her head. A few more minutes passed in total silence, Harry drinking his coffee so fast that he would soon need a fresh cup, Fred playing footsie with Christina and Cho slowly stirring her coffee, chin resting on palm. Next door, Roger Davies and his girlfriend seemed glued together by the lips. Cho was now watching Roger Davies kissing his girlfriend with a mildly interested expression.

"He asked me out, you know," she said in a quiet voice. "A couple of weeks ago. Roger. I turned him down, though." Harry said nothing and Christina again had a silent conversation with Fred about the incredible awkwardness of the pair next to them. Their cherub threw another handful of confetti over them; some of it landed in the last cold dregs of coffee Harry had been about to drink.

"I came in here with Cedric last year," said Cho. In the second or so it took for Christina to take in what she had said, her insides had become glacial. She could not believe she wanted to talk about Cedric now, while she was there with Harry, kissing couples surrounding them and a cherub floating over their heads. Cho's voice was rather higher when she spoke again.

"I've been meaning to ask you for ages. . . . Did Cedric — did he m-m-mention me at all before he died?" Christina's awkward tight lips turned into a frown and she looked away from Cho, starting to hate her. Why would she ask Harry that?

"Well - it was actually Christina who spoke with his ghost after he died -" Christina shot Harry the dirtiest look. Christina had told Harry and only Harry in confidence about her conversation with Cedric's ghost. She could've strangled him right then and there. Christina turned to Cho who's eyes were swimming with tears.

"No."

"Erm . . . so . . . d'you . . . d'you get to see a lot of Quidditch in the holidays? You support the Tornados, right?" Harry's voice sounded falsely bright and cheery.

"Look," he said desperately, leaning in so that nobody else could overhear, "let's not talk about Cedric right now. . . . Let's talk about something else. . . ." But this, apparently, was quite the wrong thing to say. '

"I thought," she said, tears spattering down onto the table. "I thought you'd u-u-understand! I need to talk about it! Surely you n-need to talk about it t-too! I mean, you saw it happen, d-didn't you?" Everything was going nightmarishly wrong; Roger Davies' girlfriend had even unglued herself to look around at Cho crying.

"Well — I have talked about it," Harry said in a whisper, "to Christina, Ron and Hermione, but —"

"Oh, you'll talk to Hermione Granger!" she said shrilly, her face now shining with tears, and several more kissing couples broke apart to stare. "But you won't talk to me! P-perhaps it would be best if we just . . . just p-paid and you went and met up with Hermione G-Granger, like you obviously want to!" Christina was utterly confused, did she think Harry and Hermione were a thing? Harry stared at her, bewildered, as she seized a frilly napkin and dabbed at her shining face with it.

"Cho?" he said weakly, wishing Roger would seize his girlfriend and start kissing her again to stop her goggling at him and Cho.

"Go on, leave!" she said, now crying into the napkin. "I don't know why you asked me out in the first place if you're going to make arrangements to meet other girls right after me. . . . Couldn't even go out with me without Christina here! I bet she told her boyfriend about the night he-he-"

"Well you're not exactly my girlfriend so-"

"OKAY! We're gonna go, lots of stuff to do-"

"What do you mean I'm not your girlfriend! How many are you meeting after Hermione?"

"It's not like that!" said Harry with a nervous laugh. Cho sprang to her feet.

"I'll see you around, Harry," she said dramatically, and hiccuping slightly she dashed to the door, wrenched it open, and hurried off into the pouring rain.

"Cho!" Harry called after her, but the door had already swung shut behind her with a tuneful tinkle. There was total silence within the tea shop. Every eye was upon Harry. He threw a Galleon down onto the table, shook pink confetti out of his eyes, and followed Cho out of the door. Christina got up to follow Harry but when she opened the door there was no sign of him. Fred stepped up behind Christina.

"Well, that was a complete disaster!" she said lightly out of breath with a smile. Fred moved forward, towering over her.

"You spoke to Cedric after he died?" Christina's smile faded as she looked at a stern Fred Weasley. Fred rarely ever was serious so she knew it was important to place her words carefully.

"Yes. Him, Harry's parents, and a man and a woman I didn't know."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought it would only hurt you." she said honestly.

"Well it certainly hurts now!" he put his hands on his hips and looked above her head. She felt awful, she never wanted this to happen. She could've killed Harry . . . her lip started to tremble and she hugged his chest.

"I'm so sorry Fred, we should have never gone out with Harry and Cho, we should-"

"What did he say to you?"

"Cedric?" she asked and pulled away, looking up to his stony face.

"Yeah." She weighed her words carefully, she could either lie and make him feel better . . . but if he ever found out he would surely leave her . . . or she could tell the truth and deal with the consequences now.

"Well. He asked me to bring his body back. To his father. . . and he said 'It was always you'" he looked at her hard, concentrating on all her features.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know . . . Fred, listen, nothing ever happened between us-"

"I know. Did he love you?"

"I don't- no, he couldn't have he was with Cho the whole time . . . " Fred looked away again and Christina felt tears start to well-up in her eyes. She sniffed and Fred looked down.

"Oh, no, no don't cry!" he wrapped his arms around her and placed his chin on her head.

"I'm so sorry Fred, I should have told you, I didn't want you to thin anything happened cause I didn't know he'd say that-" he shushed her and kissed her forehead.

"I love you so much, Christina." she hugged him tighter and murmured into his chest.

"I'll love you forever, Fred."


	26. Chapter 26: Hooked

Fred and Christina spent the rest of the day in the Room of Requirement, setting off fireworks, creating metal and sapphire roller coasters, and having sex. The big important meeting Christina had missed was a secret tell-all interview with Rita Skeeter that Christina and Harry were supposed to be the focus, but since Christina didn't show up only Harry was interviewed.

"Can't wait to see what Umbridge thinks of you going public," said Dean, sounding awestruck at dinner on Monday night. "It's the right thing to do, Harry," said Neville, who was sitting opposite him. He was rather pale, but went on in a low voice, "It must have been . . . tough . . . talking about it. . . . Was it?"

"Yeah," mumbled Harry, "but people have got to know what Voldemort's capable of, haven't they?" "That's right," said Neville, nodding, "and his Death Eaters too . . . People should know. . . ." Neville left his sentence hanging and returned to his baked potato. After a while Dean, Seamus, and Neville departed for the common room, leaving Christina, Harry and Hermione at the table waiting for Ron, who had not yet had dinner because of Quidditch practice. Cho Chang walked into the hall with her friend Marietta. Christina sneered at her, but she did not look over at the Gryffindor table and sat down with her back to Harry.

"Oh, I forgot to ask you," said Hermione brightly, glancing over at the Ravenclaw table, "what happened on your date with Cho? How come you were back so early?"

"Er . . . well, it was . . ." said Harry, pulling a dish of rhubarb crumble toward him and helping himself to seconds, "a complete fiasco, now you mention it." And he told her what had happened in Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. ". . . so then," he finished several minutes later, as the final bit of crumble disappeared, "she jumps up, right, and says 'I'll see you around, Harry,' and runs out of the place!" He put down his spoon and looked at Hermione.

"I mean, what was all that about? What was going on?" Hermione glanced over at the back of Cho's head and sighed. 6 took a pea and flung it at

"Are we not going to mentioning you selling me out in front of precious Chang?" said Christina "What happened?" asked "Oh nothing, just Harry told Cho and Fred that Cedric's ghost told me "it was always you" in the graveyard that night, something I've only told Harry! Fred and I almost broke up!" "Is that why you didn't come to the interview?" Hermione asked. "Yeah! So you can thank boy wonder over there for that." Christina "Oh, Harry," she said sadly. "Well, I'm sorry, but you were a bit tactless." "Me, tactless?" said Harry, outraged. "Christina and Fred were being ridiculous the entire time! Kissing and-" 

""You should've known better than to ask us to come! You know us! That's what we're like!" Christina said heatedly. 

"Well excuse me! The whole thing was stupid, one minute we were getting on fine, next minute she was telling me that Roger Davies asked her out, and how she used to go and snog Cedric in that stupid tea shop — how was I supposed to feel about that?" 

"Well, you see," said Hermione, with the patient air of one explaining that one plus one equals two to an overemotional toddler, "you shouldn't have told her that you wanted to meet me halfway through your date." "But, but," spluttered Harry, "but — you told me to meet you at twelve and to bring her along, how was I supposed to do that without telling her — ?" 

"You should have told her differently" said Hermione, still with that maddeningly patient air. "You should have said it was really annoying, but I'd made you promise to come along to the Three Broomsticks, and you really didn't want to go, you'd much rather spend the whole day with her, but unfortunately you thought you really ought to meet me and would she please, please come along with you, and hopefully you'd be able to get away more quickly? And it might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am too," Hermione added as an afterthought. 

"But I don't think you're ugly," said Harry, bemused. Christina laughed. 

"Harry, you're worse than Ron. . . . Well, no, you're not," Christina sighed, as Ron himself came stumping into the Hall splattered with mud and looking grumpy. "Look — you upset Cho when you said you were going to meet me, so she tried to make you jealous. It was her way of trying to find out how much you liked her."

"Is that what she was doing?" said Harry as Ron dropped onto the bench opposite them and pulled every dish within reach toward himself. "Well, wouldn't it have been easier if she'd just asked me whether I liked her better than you?" "Girls don't often ask questions like that," said Hermione.

"Well, they should!" said Harry forcefully. "Then I could've just told her I fancy her, and she wouldn't have had to get herself all worked up again about Cedric dying!"

"I'm not saying what she did was sensible," said Hermione, as Ginny joined them, just as muddy as Ron and looking equally disgruntled.

"I'm just trying to make you see how she was feeling at the time."

"You should write a book," Ron told Hermione as he cut up his potatoes, "translating mad things girls do so boys can understand them."

"Yeah," said Harry fervently, looking over at the Ravenclaw table. Cho had just got up; still not looking at him, she left the Great Hall.

"So, how was Quidditch practice?" Christina asked changing the "It was a nightmare," said Ron in a surly voice. "Oh come on," said Hermione, looking at Ginny, "I'm sure it wasn't that —"

"Yes, it was," said Ginny.

"It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it." Ron and Ginny went off for baths after dinner; Christina, Harry and Hermione returned to the busy Gryffindor common room and their usual pile of homework. Christina had been struggling with a new star chart for Astronomy for half an hour when Fred and George turned up.

"Ron and Ginny not here?" asked Fred sitting jokingly on top of Christina,"Get off!" Christina groaned pushing his back. He fell to the side and kissed her, smiling like an idiot. "And no they're not here."

"Good. We were watching their practice. They're going to be slaughtered. They're complete rubbish without us."

"Come on, Ginny's not bad," said George fairly, sitting down next to Fred. "Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us. . . .""She's been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren't looking," said Hermione from behind her tottering pile of Ancient Rune books. "Oh," said George, looking mildly impressed. "Well — that'd explain it."

"Has Ron saved a goal yet?" asked Hermione, peering over the top of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms. "Well, he can do it if he doesn't think anyone's watching him," said Fred, rolling his eyes.

"So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday" He got up again and moved restlessly to the window, staring out across the dark grounds.

"You know, Quidditch was about the only thing in this place worth staying for." Hermione cast him a stern look. "You've got exams coming!"

"Told you already, we're not fussed about N.E.W.T.s," said "Yeah we'll be out of here before they even come up-" but George stopped because Fred had hit him on the shoulder and he shut his mouth quickly. Christina shot a look at "What do you mean you'll be gone?" she asked. "Well, the Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of murtlap essence sorts them, Lee put us onto it-" but Christina wasn't listening to George's explanation she was still sending daggers at "Fred, what do you mean you're leaving? You won't be at Hogwarts anymore?""I-" Fred seemed at a loss for "Are you serious? When are you leaving? Where are you going?""Yeah, well we-""And you're telling me like this?!" "I'm sorry I-" Fred "I can't believe this." Christina stood up and rushed over to the portrait hole, unable to believe what she was hearing. Did Fred try and break up with her on Valentine's Day because he knew he was leaving anyways? She went up the steps and Fred called out for her to stop. She kept walking but Fred grabbed her shoulder and turned her "Will you listen!""How could you not tell me you were planning on leaving!""We have to make money, Christina! We can't go no N.E.W.T.s and be those losers who never did anything after school." Christina looked at him sadly. "You would never be that to anyone . . ." she said rubbing his arm sympathetically. He tilted his head down. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew it would upset you . . ."

"I'll come with you." Christina said without even thinking. He shook his "No, you're actually smart." said "So are you! Even Hermione thinks your pranks are great and-" but Fred wasn't listening he was just looking at her "I have to leave. I want to make enough money to support you. I love you, Christina." Christina's eyes filled with tears and she smiled, hugging him. Christina and Fred agreed to drop the topic to save their mentality for the next few weeks. She wasn't sure when he was going to leave but she knew it would be before the end of the summer session. 

On top of the sadness Fred's departure would soon bring the Gryffindor Quidditch team was crushed on the following Saturday by Hufflepuff. The very best thing you could say about the match was that it was short; the Gryffindor spectators had to endure only twenty-two minutes of agony. It was hard to say what the worst thing was: Christina thought it was a close-run contest between Ron's fourteenth failed save, Sloper missing the Bludger but hitting Angelina in the mouth with his bat, and Kirke shrieking and falling backward off his broom as Zacharias Smith zoomed at him carrying the Quaffle. The miracle was that Gryffindor only lost by ten points: Ginny managed to snatch the Snitch from right under Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby's nose, so that the final score was two hundred and forty versus two hundred and thirty.

"Good catch," Harry told Ginny back in the common room, where the atmosphere closely resembled that of a particularly dismal funeral. "I was lucky," she shrugged. "It wasn't a very fast Snitch and Summerby's got a cold, he sneezed and closed his eyes at exactly the wrong moment. Anyway, once you're back on the team —"

"Ginny, we've got a lifelong ban." Christina added. "You're banned as long as Umbridge is in the school," Ginny corrected her. "There's a difference. Anyway, once you're all back, I think I'll try out for Chaser. Angelina and Alicia are both leaving next year and I prefer goal-scoring to Seeking anyway." Christina looked over at Ron, who was hunched in a corner, staring at his knees, a bottle of butterbeer clutched in his hand.

"Angelina still won't let him resign," Ginny said, as though reading Christina's mind. "She says she knows he's got it in him." Christina didn't understand Angelina's faith in Ron, she thought it would really be kinder to let him leave the team. Ron had left the pitch to another booming chorus of "Weasley Is Our King" sung with great gusto by the Slytherins, who were now favorites to win the Quidditch Cup. Fred and George wandered over. "I haven't got the heart to take the mickey out of him, even," said Fred, looking over at Ron's crumpled figure. "Mind you . . . when he missed the fourteenth . . ." He made wild motions with his arms as though doing an upright doggy-paddle.

"Well, I'll save it for parties, eh?" Ron dragged himself up to bed shortly after this and Christina Christina got into bed quietly while Hermione sat on top of her sheets reading another book. Christina stared up at the ceiling, it had been immensely frustrating watching from the sidelines. She was quite impressed by Ginny's performance but she felt that if Harry had been playing he could have caught the Snitch sooner. . . .. Umbridge had been sitting a few rows below Christina, Harry and Hermione. Once or twice she had turned squatly in her seat to look at them, her wide toad's mouth stretched in what Christina thought had been a gloating smile. The memory of it made her feel hot with anger as she lay there in the dark.

After a few minutes, however, she remembered that she was supposed to be emptying her mind of all emotion before she slept, as Snape kept instructing her at the end of every Occlumency lesson. She tried for a moment or two, but the thought of Snape on top of memories of Umbridge merely increased her sense of grumbling resentment, and she found herself focusing instead on how much she loathed the pair of them. It took Christina much longer to get to sleep; her body was tired, but it took her brain a long time to close down. She dreamed that Neville and Professor Sprout were waltzing around the Room of Requirement while Professor McGonagall played the bagpipes. She watched them happily for a while, then decided to go and find the other members of the D.A. . . . But when she left the room she found herself facing, not the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, but a torch burning in its bracket on a stone wall. She turned her head slowly to the left. There, at the far end of the windowless passage, was a plain, black door. She walked toward it with a sense of mounting excitement. She had the strangest feeling that this time she was going to get lucky at last, and find the way to open it. . . . She was feet from it and saw with a leap of excitement that there was a glowing strip of faint blue light down the right-hand side. . . . The door was ajar. . . . She stretched out her hand to push it wide and —

Pavarti gave a loud, rasping, genuine snore, and Christina awoke abruptly with her right hand stretched in front of her in the darkness, to open a door that was hundreds of miles away. She let it fall with a feeling of mingled disappointment and guilt. She knew she should not have seen the door, but at the same time, felt so consumed with curiosity about what was behind it that she could not help feeling annoyed with Pavarti. . . . If she could have saved her snore for just another minute . . . Yet again, Christina and Harry had had the same dream, however Harry got slightly closer than she did but he too, discovered nothing. They entered the Great Hall for breakfast at exactly the same moment as the post owls on Monday morning .

Hermione was not the only person eagerly awaiting her Daily Prophet: Nearly everyone was eager for more news about the escaped Death Eaters, who, despite many reported sightings, had still not been caught. She gave the delivery owl a Knut and unfolded the newspaper eagerly while Harry received a letter himself. Christina still had received no mail from "Who're you after?" he asked it, languidly removing his orange juice from underneath its beak, Christina leaned forward to see the recipient's name and address: Harry Potter Great Hall Hogwarts School Frowning, she made to take the letter from the owl, but before she could do so, three, four, five more owls had fluttered down beside it and were jockeying for position, treading in the butter, knocking over the salt, and each attempting to give him their letters first. "What's going on?" Ron asked in amazement, as the whole of Gryffindor table leaned forward to watch as another seven owls landed amongst the first ones, screeching, hooting, and flapping their wings. "Harry!" said Hermione breathlessly, plunging her hands into the feathery mass and pulling out a screech owl bearing a long, cylindrical package. "I think I know what this means — open this one first!" Harry ripped off the brown packaging. Out rolled a tightly furled copy of March's edition of The Quibbler. He unrolled it to see his own face grinning sheepishly at him from the front cover. In large red letters across his picture were the words:

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN

"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself onto the bench between Fred and Ron. "It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these," she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Harry, "are letters from readers."

"That's what I thought," said Hermione eagerly, "Harry, d'you mind if we — ?" "Help yourself," said Harry, feeling slightly bemused. Christina, Ron and Hermione both started ripping open envelopes.

"This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker," said Ron, glancing down his letter. "Ah well . . ."

"This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," said Christina, looking disappointed and crumpling up a second. "This one looks okay, though," said Harry slowly, scanning a long letter from a witch in Paisley. "Hey, she says she believes me!" "This one's in two minds," said Fred, who had joined in the letter opening with enthusiasm. "Says you don't come across as a mad person, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now. . . . Blimey, what a waste of parchment . . ."

"Here's another one you've convinced, Harry!" said Hermione excitedly. " 'Having read your side of the story I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly. . . . Little though I want to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth. . . .' Oh this is wonderful!" "Another one who thinks you're barking," said Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder, "but this one says you've got her converted, and she now thinks you're a real hero — she's put in a photograph too — wow —"

"What is going on here?" said a falsely sweet, girlish voice. Christina looked up with her hands full of envelopes. Professor Umbridge was standing behind Fred and Luna, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of Harry. Behind her he saw many of the students watching them avidly.

"Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?" she asked slowly. "Is that a crime now?" said Fred loudly.

"Getting mail?" Christina kicked him in the shin, shushing him. "Be careful, Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention," said Umbridge.

"Well, Mr. Potter?" Harry hesitated, but Christina did not see how he could keep what he had done quiet; it was surely only a matter of time before a copy of The Quibbler came to Umbridge's attention.

"People have written to me because I gave an interview," said Harry.

"About what happened to me last June." For some reason he glanced up at the staff table as he said this.

"An interview?" repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. "What do you mean?" "I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them," said Harry. "Here —" And he threw the copy of The Quibbler at her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet.

"When did you do this?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Last Hogsmeade weekend," said Harry. She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers. "There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter," she whispered. "How you dare . . . how you could . . ." She took a deep breath. "I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions." She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her. By mid-morning enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on House notice boards, but in the corridors and classrooms too.

— BY ORDER OF —

 _The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts_

Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled. The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.

Signed:

 _Dolores Umbridge_

 **HIGH INQUISITOR**

"For some reason, every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure.

"What exactly are you so happy about?" Christina asked her. "Oh Christina, don't you see?" Hermione breathed. "If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read the interview, it was banning it!"

And it seemed that Hermione was quite right. By the end of that day, though Christina had not seen so much as a corner of The Quibbler anywhere in the school, the whole place seemed to be quoting the interview at each other; Christina heard them whispering about it as they queued up outside classes, discussing it over lunch and in the back of lessons, every occupant of the cubicles in the girls' toilets had been talking about it.

"And then they spotted me, and obviously they know I know you, so they were bombarding me with questions," Hermione told Harry, her eyes shining, "and Harry, I think they believe you, I really do, I think you've finally got them convinced!"

Meanwhile Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stopping students at random and demanding that they turn out their books and pockets. Christina knew she was looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students were several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying Harry's interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it. The teachers were, of course, forbidden from mentioning the interview by Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, but they found ways to express their feelings about it all the same. Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can; a beaming Professor Flitwick pressed a box of squeaking sugar mice on him at the end of Charms, said "Shh!" and hurried away; and Professor Trelawney broke into hysterical sobs during Divination and announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister of Magic, and have twelve children.

Unfortunately this of course brought Cho and Harry back together. And unbelievably so, no sooner had Harry arrived outside Transfiguration than something just as good happened: Seamus stepped out of the queue to face him. "I just wanted to say," he mumbled, squinting at Harry's left knee, "I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's reactions were definitely the icing on the cake. Christina saw them with their heads together later that afternoon in the library, together with a weedy looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott. They looked around at Harry as he browsed the shelves for the book he needed on Partial Vanishment, and Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly and Malfoy whispered something undoubtedly malevolent to Crabbe. Christina knew perfectly well why they were acting like this: Harry had named all of their fathers as Death Eaters.

"And the best bit is," whispered Hermione gleefully as they left the library, "they can't contradict you, because they can't admit they've read the article!" To cap it all, Luna told him over dinner that no copy of The Quibbler had ever sold out faster. "Dad's reprinting!" she told Harry, her eyes popping excitedly.

"He can't believe it, he says people seem even more interested in this than the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!" Harry was a hero in the Gryffindor common room that night; daringly, Fred and George had put an Enlargement Charm on the front cover of The Quibbler and hung it on the wall, so that Harry's giant head gazed down upon the proceedings, occasionally saying things like "The Ministry are morons" and "Eat dung, Umbridge" in a booming voice. Hermione did not find this very amusing; she said it interfered with her concentration, and ended up going to bed early out of irritation. Christina loved the poster, and even more so after an hour or two, when the talking spell had started to wear off, so that it merely shouted disconnected words like "Dung" and "Umbridge" at more and more frequent intervals in a progressively higher voice. Christina didn't mind that Harry was getting the positive praise. Harry had given Christina's details of the event in the article as well and since she didn't do the interview she couldn't get in trouble for it.

Christina left the party after Harry and fell asleep almost instantly. . . . . She was standing in a dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles. Her hands were clenched on the back of a chair in front of her. They were long-fingered and white as though they had not seen sunlight for years and looked like large, pale spiders against the dark velvet of the chair. Beyond the chair, in a pool of light cast upon the floor by the candles, knelt a man in black robes. "I have been badly advised, it seems," said Christina, in a high, cold voice that pulsed with anger. "Master, I crave your pardon. . . ." croaked the man kneeling on the floor. The back of his head glimmered in the candlelight. He seemed to be trembling. "I do not blame you, Rookwood," said Christina in that cold, cruel voice. She relinquished her grip upon the chair and walked around it, closer to the man cowering upon the floor, until she stood directly over him in the darkness, looking down from a far greater height than usual. "You are sure of your facts, Rookwood?" asked Christina.

"Yes, My Lord, yes . . . I used to work in the department after — after all. . . ." "Avery told me Bode would be able to remove it."

"Bode could never have taken it, Master. . . . Bode would have known he could not. . . . Undoubtedly that is why he fought so hard against Malfoy's Imperius Curse. . . ."

"Stand up, Rookwood," whispered Christina. The kneeling man almost fell over in his haste to obey. His face was pockmarked; the scars were thrown into relief by the candlelight. He remained a little stooped when standing, as though halfway through a bow, and he darted terrified looks up at Christina's face. "You have done well to tell me this," said Christina.

"Very well . . . I have wasted months on fruitless schemes, it seems. . . . But no matter . . . We begin again, from now. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood. . . ."

"My Lord . . . yes, My Lord," gasped Rookwood, his voice hoarse with relief. "I shall need your help. I shall need all the information you can give me." "Of course, My Lord, of course . . . anything . . ."

"Very well . . . you may go. Send Avery to me." Rookwood scurried backward, bowing, and disappeared through a door. Left alone in the dark room, Christina turned toward the wall. A cracked, age-spotted mirror hung on the wall in the shadows. Christina moved toward it. Her reflection grew larger and clearer in the darkness. . . . A face whiter than a skull . . . red eyes with slits for pupils . . .

"NOOOOOOOOO!" "What?" yelled a voice nearby. Christina flailed around madly, became entangled in the hangings, and fell out of her bed. For a few seconds she did not know where she was; she was convinced that she was about to see the white, skull-like face looming at her out of the dark again, then Hermione's voice spoke very near to her.

"Stay still so I can help you!" Hermione wrenched the hangings apart, and Christina stared up at her in the moonlight, as she lay flat on her back, her scar searing with pain. Hermione looked as though she had just been getting ready for bed; one arm was out of her robes.

"Has someone been attacked again?" asked Hermione, pulling Christina roughly to his feet.

"Is it that snake?"

"No — everyone's fine —" gasped Christina, whose hand felt as though it was on fire again. "Well . . . Avery isn't. . . . He's in trouble. . . . He gave him the wrong information. . . . He's really angry. . . ." Christina groaned and sank, shaking, onto her bed, rubbing her scar. "But Rookwood's going to help him now. . . . He's on the right track again. . . ."

"What are you talking about?" said Hermione, sounding scared. "D'you mean . . . did you see Voldemort?"

"I was Voldemort," said Christina, and she stretched out her hands in the darkness and held them up to her face to check that they were no longer deathly white and long-fingered. "He was with Rookwood, he's one of the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban, remember? Rookwood's just told him Bode couldn't have done it. . . ."

"Done what?"

"Remove something. . . . He said Bode would have known he couldn't have done it. . . . Bode was under the Imperius Curse. . . . I think he said Malfoy's dad put it on him. . . ." "Bode was bewitched to remove the weapon?" Hermione said. "I know." The dormitory door opened; Lavender and Pavarti came in. Christina swung her legs back into did not want to look as though anything odd had just happened.

"Did you say," murmured Hermione, putting her head close to Christina's on the pretense of helping herself to water from the jug on her bedside table, "that you were You-Know-Who?""Yeah," said Christina

"Christina," she said, as Lavender and Pavarti clattered around noisily, pulling off their robes, and talking, "you've got to tell —"

"I haven't got to tell anyone," said Christina shortly. "I wouldn't have seen it at all if I could do Occlumency. I'm supposed to have learned to shut this stuff out. That's what they want." By "they" she meant Dumbledore. She got back into bed and rolled over onto her side with her back to Hermione and after a while she heard Hermione's mattress creak as she lay back down too. Her scar began to burn; she bit hard on her pillow to stop herself making a noise. Somewhere, she knew, Avery was being punished. . . . "

Christina and Hermione met with Harry and Ron the next morning to compare stories. When they had finished, Hermione said nothing at all for a few moments, but stared with a kind of painful intensity at Fred and George, who were both headless and selling their magical hats from under their cloaks on the other side of the yard. "Leave them alone they need the money" Christina said quickly.

"So that's why they killed him," she said quietly, withdrawing her gaze from Fred and George at last.

"When Bode tried to steal this weapon, something funny happened to him. I think there must be defensive spells on it, or around it, to stop people from touching it. That's why he was in St. Mungo's, his brain had gone all funny and he couldn't talk. But remember what the Healer told us? He was recovering. And they couldn't risk him getting better, could they? I mean, the shock of whatever happened when he touched that weapon probably made the Imperius Curse lift. Once he'd got his voice back, he'd explain what he'd been doing, wouldn't he? They would have known he'd been sent to steal the weapon. Of course, it would have been easy for Lucius Malfoy to put the curse on him. Never out of the Ministry, is he?"

"He was even hanging around that day we had the hearing," said Harry. "In the — hang on . . ." he said slowly.

"He was in the Department of Mysteries corridor that day! Your dad said he was probably trying to sneak down and find out what happened in my hearing, but what if —"

"Sturgis," gasped Christina, looking thunderstruck.

"Sorry?" said Ron, looking bewildered.

"Sturgis Podmore," said Christina, breathlessly. "Arrested for trying to get through a door. Lucius Malfoy got him too. I bet he did it the day you saw him there, Harry. Sturgis had Moody's Invisibility Cloak, right? So what if he was standing guard by the door, invisible, and Malfoy heard him move, or guessed he was there, or just did the Imperius Curse on the off chance that a guard was there? So when Sturgis next had an opportunity — probably when it was his turn on guard duty again — he tried to get into the department to steal the weapon for Voldemort — Ron, shut up — but he got caught and sent to Azkaban. . . ." She gazed at Harry.

"And now Rookwood's told Voldemort how to get the weapon?" "I didn't hear all the conversation, but that's what it sounded like," said Harry.

"Rookwood used to work there. . . . Maybe Voldemort'll send Rookwood to do it?" Hermione nodded, apparently still lost in thought. Then, quite abruptly, she said, "But you guys shouldn't have seen this at all."

"What?" he said, taken aback. "You're supposed to be learning how to close your mind to this sort of thing," said Hermione, suddenly stern.

"I know we are," said Christina. "But —"

"Well, I think we should just try and forget what you saw," said Hermione firmly. "And you ought to put in a bit more effort on your Occlumency from now on." Christina was so angry with her that she did not talk to her for the rest of the day, which proved to be another bad one. When people were not discussing the escaped Death Eaters in the corridors today, they were laughing at Gryffindor's abysmal performance in their match against Hufflepuff; the Slytherins were singing "Weasley Is Our King" so loudly and frequently that by sundown Filch had banned it from the corridors out of sheer irritation. The week did not improve as it progressed: Christina received two more P's in Potions, was still on tenterhooks that Hagrid might get the sack, and could not stop herself from dwelling on the dream in which she had seen Voldemort, though she did not bring it up with Ron and Hermione again because she did not want another telling-off from Hermione. Christina wished very much that she could have talked to Sirius about it, but that was out of the question, so she tried to push the matter to the back of her mind. Unfortunately, the back of her mind was no longer the secure place it had once been.

"Get up, Bataskill." A couple of weeks after her dream of Rookwood, Christina was to be found, yet again, kneeling on the floor of Snape's office, trying to clear her head. She had just been forced, yet again, to relive a stream of very early memories she had not even realized she still had, most of them concerning humiliations in elementary school.

"That last memory," said Snape. "What was it?" "I don't know," said Christina, getting wearily to her feet. She was finding it increasingly difficult to disentangle separate memories from the rush of images and sound that Snape kept calling forth. "You mean the one where my teacher berated me in front of the class?" 

"No," said Snape softly. "I mean the one concerning a man kneeling in the middle of a darkened room. . . ." 

"It's . . . nothing," said Christina. Snape's dark eyes bored into Christina's. Remembering what Snape had said about eye contact being crucial to Legilimency, Christina blinked and looked away. "How do that man and that room come to be inside your head, Bataskill?" said Snape. 

"It —" said Christina, looking everywhere but at Snape, "it was — just a dream I had." 

"A dream," repeated Snape. There was a pause during which Christina stared fixedly at a large dead frog suspended in a purple liquid in its jar. "You do know why we are here, don't you, Bataskill?" said Snape in a low, dangerous voice. "You do know why I am giving up my evenings to this tedious job?"

"Yes," said Christina stiffly.

"Remind me why we are here, Bataskill." "So I can learn Occlumency," said Christina, now glaring at a dead eel.

"Correct, Bataskill. And dim though you may be" — Christina looked back at Snape, hating him — "I would have thought that after two months' worth of lessons you might have made some progress. How many other dreams about the Dark Lord have you had?"

"Just that one," lied Christina. "Perhaps," said Snape, his dark, cold eyes narrowing slightly,

"perhaps you actually enjoy having these visions and dreams, Bataskill. Maybe they make you feel special — important?"

"No, they don't," said Christina, her jaw set and her fingers clenched tightly around the handle of her wand. "That is just as well, Bataskill," said Snape coldly, "because you are neither special nor important, and it is not up to you to find out what the Dark Lord is saying to his Death Eaters."

"No — that's your job, isn't it?" Christina shot at him. She had not meant to say it; it had burst out of her in temper. For a long moment they stared at each other, Christina convinced she had gone too far. But there was a curious, almost satisfied expression on Snape's face when he answered. "Yes, Bataskill," he said, his eyes glinting.

"That is my job. Now, if you are ready, we will start again. . . ." He raised his wand. "One — two — three — Legilimens!"

"Protego Maxima!" Snape staggered; his wand flew upward, away from Christina — and suddenly Christina's mind was teeming with memories that were not his — a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner. . . . A greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies. . . . A girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick —

"ENOUGH!" Christina felt as though she had been pushed hard in the chest; she took several staggering steps backward, hit some of the shelves covering Snape's walls and heard something crack. Snape was shaking slightly, very white in the face. The back of Christina's robes were damp. One of the jars behind her had broken when she fell against it; the pickled slimy thing within was swirling in its draining potion.

"Reparo!" hissed Snape, and the jar sealed itself once more. "Well, Bataskill . . . that was certainly an improvement. . . ." Panting slightly, Snape straightened the Pensieve in which he had again stored some of his thoughts before starting the lesson, almost as though checking that they were still there.

"I don't remember telling you to use a Shield Charm . . . but there is no doubt that it was effective. . . ." Christina did not speak; she felt that to say anything might be dangerous. She was sure she had just broken into Snape's memories, that she had just seen scenes from Snape's childhood, and it was unnerving to think that the crying little boy who had watched his parents shouting was actually standing in front of her with such loathing in his eyes. . . .

"Let's try again, shall we?" said Snape. Christina felt a thrill of dread: She was about to pay for what had just happened, she was sure of it. They moved back into position with the desk between them, Christina feeling she was going to find it much harder to empty her mind this time. . . . "On the count of three, then," said Snape, raising his wand once more.

"One — two —" Christina did not have time to gather herself together and attempt to clear her mind, for Snape had already cried "Legilimens!" She was hurtling along the corridor toward the Department of Mysteries, past the blank stone walls, past the torches — the plain black door was growing ever larger; she was moving so fast she was going to collide with it, she was feet from it and she could see that chink of faint blue light again — The door had flown open! She was through it at last, inside a black-walled, black-floored circular room lit with blue-flamed candles, and there were more doors all around her — she needed to go on — but which door ought she to take — ?

"BATASKILL!" Christina opened her eyes. She was flat on her back again with no memory of having gotten there; she was also panting as though she really had run the length of the Department of Mysteries corridor, really had sprinted through the black door and found the circular room. . . .

"Explain yourself!" said Snape, who was standing over her, looking furious. "I . . . dunno what happened," said Christina truthfully, standing up. There was a lump on the back of her head from where she had hit the ground and she felt feverish.

"I've never seen that before. I mean, I told you, I've dreamed about the door . . . but it's never opened before. . . ." "You are not working hard enough!" For some reason, Snape seemed even angrier than he had done two minutes before, when Christina had seen into his own memories. "You are lazy and sloppy, Bataskill, it is small wonder that the Dark Lord —"

"Can you tell me something, sir?" said Christina, firing up again. "Why do you call Voldemort the Dark Lord, I've only ever heard Death Eaters call him that —" Snape opened his mouth in a snarl — and a woman screamed from somewhere outside the room. Snape's head jerked upward; he was gazing at the ceiling.

"What the — ?" he muttered. Christina could hear a muffled commotion coming from what she thought might be the entrance hall. Snape looked around at her, frowning.

"Did you see anything unusual on your way down here, Bataskill?" Christina shook her head. Somewhere above them, the woman screamed again. Snape strode to his office door, removed the rings from Christina's wrists, and swept out of sight. Christina hesitated for a moment, then followed. The screams were indeed coming from the entrance hall; they grew louder as Christina ran toward the stone steps leading up from the dungeons. When she reached the top she found the entrance hall packed. Students had come flooding out of the Great Hall, where dinner was still in progress, to see what was going on. Others had crammed themselves onto the marble staircase. Christina pushed forward through a knot of tall Slytherins and saw that the onlookers had formed a great ring, some of them looking shocked, others even frightened. Professor McGonagall was directly opposite Christina on the other side of the hall; she looked as though what she was watching made her feel faintly sick. Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the entrance hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terrified, at something Harry could not see but that seemed to be standing at the foot of the

"No!" she shrieked.

"NO! This cannot be happening. . . . It cannot . . . I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realize this was coming?" said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused, and Christina, moving slightly to her right, saw that Trelawney's terrifying vision was nothing other than Professor Umbridge.

"Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow 's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?"

"You c-can't!" howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, "you c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"

"It was your home," said Professor Umbridge, and Christina was revolted to see the enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, onto one of her trunks, "until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us." But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoyment, as Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backward and forward on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Christina heard a sob to her left and looked around. Lavender and Parvati were both crying silently, their arms around each other. Then Christina heard footsteps. Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.

"There, there, Sibyll . . . Calm down. . . . Blow your nose on this. . . . It's not as bad as you think, now. . . . You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts. . . ." "Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. "And your authority for that statement is . . . ?"

"That would be mine," said a deep voice. The oak front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. What he had been doing out in the grounds Christina could not imagine, but there was something impressive about the sight of him framed in the doorway against an oddly misty night. Leaving the doors wide behind him, he strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Professor Trelawney sat, tearstained and trembling, upon her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" said Umbridge with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here" — she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes — "an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her." To Christina's very great surprise, Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid," he went on, with a courteous little bow, "that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts." At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccup was barely hidden.

"No — no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere —

"No," said Dumbledore sharply. "It is my wish that you remain, Sibyll." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course," said McGonagall. "Up you get, Sibyll. . . ." Professor Sprout came hurrying forward out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney's other arm. Together they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked,

"Locomotor trunks!" and Professor Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear. Professor Umbridge was standing stock-still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.

"And what," she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried all around the entrance hall, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

"You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found — ?" said Umbridge shrilly. "You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty-two —"

"— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one," said Dumbledore. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?" He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Christina heard hooves. There was a shocked murmur around the hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even farther backward, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer. Through the mist came a face Christina had never seen before: white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes, the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.

"This is Firenze," said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you'll find him suitable."


	27. Chapter 27: The Centaur and the Sneak

"I'll bet you wish you hadn't given up Divination now, don't you, Hermione?" asked Parvati, smirking. It was breakfast time a few days after the sacking of Professor Trelawney, and Parvati was curling her eyelashes around her wand and examining the effect in the back of her spoon. They were to have their first lesson with Firenze that morning.

"Not really," said Hermione indifferently, who was reading the Daily Prophet. "I've never really liked horses." She turned a page of the newspaper, scanning its columns.

"He's not a horse, he's a centaur!" said Lavender, sounding shocked.

"A gorgeous centaur . . ." sighed Parvati.

"Either way, he's still got four legs," said Hermione coolly. "Anyway, I thought you two were all upset that Trelawney had gone?"

"We are!" Lavender assured her. "We went up to her office to see her, we took her some daffodils — not the honking ones that Sprout's got, nice ones. . . ."

"How is she?" asked Harry.

"Not very good, poor thing," said Lavender sympathetically. "She was crying and saying she'd rather leave the castle forever than stay here if Umbridge is still here, and I don't blame her. Umbridge was horrible to her, wasn't she?"

"I've got a feeling Umbridge has only just started being horrible," said Hermione darkly.

"Impossible," said Ron, who was tucking into a large plate of eggs and bacon. "She can't get any worse than she's been already."

"You mark my words, she's going to want revenge on Dumbledore for appointing a new teacher without consulting her," said Hermione, closing the newspaper. "Especially another part-human. You saw the look on her face when she saw Firenze. . . ." After breakfast Hermione departed for her Arithmancy class and Christina, Harry and Ron followed Parvati and Lavender into the entrance hall, heading for Divination.

"Aren't we going up to North Tower?" asked Christina, looking puzzled, as Parvati bypassed the marble staircase. Parvati looked scornfully over her shoulder at Christina.

"How d'you expect Firenze to climb that ladder? We're in classroom eleven now, it was on the notice board yesterday." Classroom eleven was situated in the ground-floor corridor leading off the entrance hall on the opposite side to the Great Hall. Christina knew it to be one of those classrooms that were never used regularly, and that it therefore had the slightly neglected feeling of a cupboard or storeroom. When she entered it right behind Harry and Ron, and found herself right in the middle of a forest clearing, she was therefore momentarily stunned.

"What the — ?" The classroom floor had become springily mossy and trees were growing out of it; their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows, so that the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light. The students who had already arrived were sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks or boulders arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, looking rather nervous. In the middle of the room, where there were no trees, stood Firenze.

"Harry Potter," he said, holding out a hand when Harry entered.

"Er — hi," said Harry, shaking hands with the centaur, who surveyed him unblinkingly through those astonishingly blue eyes but did not smile. "Er — good to see you . . ."

"And you," said the centaur, inclining his white-blond head. "It was foretold that we would meet again." Christina noticed that there was the shadow of a hoof-shaped bruise on Firenze's chest. As she turned to join the rest of the class upon the floor, she saw that they were all looking at them with awe, apparently deeply impressed that Harry was on speaking terms with Firenze, whom they seemed to find intimidating. When the door was closed and the last student had sat down upon a tree stump beside the wastepaper basket, Firenze gestured around the room.

"Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us," said Firenze, when everyone had settled down, "in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was — until Monday — my home . . . but this is not possible."

"Please — er — sir —" said Parvati breathlessly, raising her hand, "why not? We've been in there with Hagrid, we're not frightened!"

"It is not a question of your bravery," said Firenze, "but of my position. I can no longer return to the forest. My herd has banished me."

"Herd?" said Lavender in a confused voice, and Christina knew she was thinking of cows. "What — oh!" Comprehension dawned on her face. "There are more of you?" she said, stunned.

"Did Hagrid breed you, like the thestrals?" asked Dean eagerly. Firenze turned his head very slowly to face Dean, who seemed to realize at once that he had said something very offensive.

"I didn't — I meant — sorry," he finished in a hushed voice.

"Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans," said Firenze quietly. There was a pause, then Parvati raised her hand again. "Please, sir . . . why have the other centaurs banished you?"

"Because I have agreed to work for Professor Dumbledore," said Firenze. "They see this as a betrayal of our kind . . . Let us begin," said Firenze. He swished his long palomino tail, raised his hand toward the leafy canopy overhead then lowered it slowly, and as he did so, the light in the room dimmed, so that they now seemed to be sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars emerged upon the ceiling. There were oohs and gasps, and Ron said audibly, "Blimey!"

"Lie back upon the floor," said Firenze in his calm voice, "and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races." Christina stretched out on her back and gazed upward at the ceiling. A twinkling red star winked at her from overhead.

"I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy," said Firenze's calm voice, "and that you have mapped the stars' progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unraveled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us. . . ."

"Professor Trelawney did Astrology with us!" said Parvati excitedly, raising her hand in front of her so that it stuck up in the air as she lay on her back. "Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now" — she drew a right angle in the air above her — "that means that people need to be extra careful when handling hot things —"

"That," said Firenze calmly, "is human nonsense." Parvati's hand fell limply to her side. "Trivial hurts, tiny human accidents," said Firenze, as his hooves thudded over the mossy floor. "These are of no more significance than the scurryings of ants to the wide universe, and are unaffected by planetary movements."

"Professor Trelawney —" began Parvati, in a hurt and indignant voice.

"— is a human," said Firenze simply. "And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind." Christina turned her head very slightly to look at Parvati. She looked very offended, as did several of the people surrounding her but Christina smiled to herself, finally, someone brave enough to tell it like it is . . .

"Sibyll Trelawney may have Seen, I do not know," continued Firenze, and Christina heard the swishing of his tail again as he walked up and down before them, "but she wastes her time, in the main, on the self-flattering nonsense humans call fortune-telling. I, however, am here to explain the wisdom of centaurs, which is impersonal and impartial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing." Firenze pointed to the red star directly above Christina.

"In the past decade, the indications have been that Wizard-kind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must break out again soon. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fume and flame. . . ." It was the most unusual lesson Christina had ever attended. They did indeed burn sage and mallowsweet there on the classroom floor, and Firenze told them to look for certain shapes and symbols in the pungent fumes, but he seemed perfectly unconcerned that not one of them could see any of the signs he described, telling them that humans were hardly ever good at this, that it took centaurs years and years to become competent, and finished by telling them that it was foolish to put too much faith in such things anyway, because even centaurs sometimes read them wrongly. He was nothing like any human teacher Christina had ever had. His priority did not seem to be to teach them what he knew, but rather to impress upon them that nothing, not even centaurs' knowledge, was foolproof.

"He's not very definite on anything, is he?" said Ron in a low voice, as they put out their mallowsweet fire. "I mean, I could do with a few more details about this war we're about to have, couldn't you?" The bell rang right outside the classroom door and everyone jumped; Christina had completely forgotten that they were still inside the castle, quite convinced that she was really in the forest. The class filed out, looking slightly perplexed; Christina, Harry and Ron were on the point of following them when Firenze called, "Harry Potter, a word, please." Harry turned. The centaur advanced a little toward him. Christina and Ron hesitated.

"You may stay," Firenze told them. "But close the door, please." Ron hastened to obey. "Harry Potter, you are a friend of Hagrid's, are you not?" said the centaur.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Then give him a warning from me. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it."

"His attempt is not working?" Harry repeated blankly.

"And he would do better to abandon it," said Firenze, nodding. "I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished — it would be unwise for me to go too near the forest now — Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs' battle."

"But — what's Hagrid attempting to do?" said Harry nervously. Firenze looked at Harry impassively.

"Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service," said Firenze, "and he has long since earned my respect for the care he shows all living creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him, Harry Potter. Good day to you."

The infamy Christina had felt in the aftermath of The Quibbler article had long since evaporated. As a dull March blurred into a squally April, her life seemed to have become one long series of worries and problems again. Umbridge had continued attending all Care of Magical Creatures lessons, so it had been very difficult for Harry to deliver Firenze's warning to Hagrid. At last Harry had managed it by pretending he had lost his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and doubling back after class one day.

Meanwhile, as the teachers and Hermione persisted in reminding them, the O.W.L.s were drawing ever nearer. All the fifth years were suffering from stress to some degree, but Hannah Abbott became the first to receive a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey after she burst into tears during Herbology and sobbed that she was too stupid to take exams and wanted to leave school now. If it had not been for the D.A. lessons, Christina thought she would have been extremely sometimes felt that she was living for the hours she spent in the Room of Requirement, working hard but thoroughly enjoying herself at the same time, swelling with pride as she looked around at her fellow D.A. members and saw how far they had come. Indeed, Christina sometimes wondered how Umbridge was going to react when all the members of the D.A. received "Outstanding" in their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s. They had finally started work on Patronuses, which everybody had been very keen to practice, though as Christina kept reminding them, producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was very different to producing it when confronted by something like a dementor.

"Oh, don't be such a killjoy," said Cho nastily, watching her silvery swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement during their last lesson before Easter. "They're so pretty!"

"They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you," said Christina impatiently, but Harry put a hand on her shoulder and Christina rolled her eyes and walked away.

"What we really need is a boggart or something; that's how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the boggart was pretending to be a dementor —"

"But that would be really scary!" said Lavender, who was shooting puffs of silver vapor out of the end of her wand. "And I still — can't — do it!" she added angrily. Neville was having trouble too. His face was screwed up in concentration, but only feeble wisps of silver smoke issued from his wand tip.

"You've got to think of something happy," Harry reminded him.

"I'm trying," said Neville miserably, who was trying so hard his round face was actually shining with sweat.

"Harry, I think I'm doing it!" yelled Seamus, who had been brought along to his first ever D.A. meeting by Dean. "Look — ah — it's gone. . . . But it was definitely something hairy, Harry!" Hermione's Patronus, a shining silver otter, was gamboling around her.

"They are sort of nice, aren't they?" she said, looking at it fondly. The door of the Room of Requirement opened and then closed again; Christina looked around to see who had entered, but there did not seem to be anybody there. It was a few moments before she realized that the people close to the door had fallen silent. She looked over to Harry, Dobby the house-elf was grabbing at Harry's robes.

"Hi, Dobby!" he said. "What are you — what's wrong?" Christina walked over to see Dobby's eyes wide with terror and he was shaking. The members of the D.A. closest to Christina and Harry had fallen silent now: Everybody in the room was watching Dobby. The few Patronuses people had managed to conjure faded away into silver mist, leaving the room looking much darker than before.

"Harry Potter, sir . . ." squeaked the elf, trembling from head to foot, "Harry Potter, sir . . . Dobby has come to warn you . . . but the house-elves have been warned not to tell . . ." To Christina's surprise, Dobby ran headfirst at the wall and merely bounced off the stone, cushioned by his eight hats. Hermione and a few of the other girls let out squeaks of fear and sympathy.

"What's happened, Dobby?" Harry asked, grabbing the elf's tiny arm and holding him away from anything with which he might seek to hurt himself.

"Harry Potter . . . she . . . she . . ." Dobby hit himself hard on the nose with his free fist: Harry seized that too. "Who's 'she,' Dobby?"

"Umbridge." Christina said immediately in a deafening croak. Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head off Harry's knees; Harry held him at bay.

"What about her? Dobby — she hasn't found out about this — about us — about the D.A.?" Christina read the answer in the elf's stricken face. His hands held fast by Harry, the elf tried to kick himself and fell to the floor.

"Is she coming?" Harry asked quietly. Dobby let out a howl, and began beating his bare feet hard on the floor. "Yes, Harry Potter, yes!" Harry straightened up and looked around at the motionless, terrified people gazing at the thrashing elf. Christina's heart was pounding, she couldn't let them get caught, she could take Harry, Hermione, Ron and Fred up to the Gryffindor common room with her powers . . .and what leave George, Ginny, and Neville? It was difficult for her to move herself and Fred through the castle nonetheless several people. Harry's head whipped to Christina in a panic and as the door to the Room of Requirement flung open Christina did the only thing she could think and with a great amount of power raised her hands and threw them down to her sides; doing so caused everyone person in the Room of Requirement to turn to dust on the ground. Draco Malfoy stood in the entry way as Christina held her hands at her sides, giving a great amount of energy and concentration on keeping the other students out of sight from Malfoy. Behind him came in more Slytherins and he ran for Christina, grabbing her arms and pinning them behind her back.

"Hey, Professor — PROFESSOR! I've got her!" Umbridge came bustling around the far corner, breathless but wearing a delighted smile.

"It's her!" she said jubilantly at the sight of Christina in Malfoy's grasp. "Excellent, Draco, excellent, oh, very good — fifty points to Slytherin! I'll take her from here." Christina could barely blink she was concentrating so intensely on keeping the others safe. It was an extremely difficult task for her to disassemble the molecules in a person's body to make them appear as nothing but dust on the floor. Something she had mastered for herself her first year at Hogwarts, for two others her second year, and now for 20 others this year.

Christina had never seen Umbridge looking so happy. Umbridge seized her arm in a vicelike grip and turned, beaming broadly, to Malfoy. "You hop along and see if you can round up anymore of them, Draco, they must've ran off . . ." she said. "Tell the others to look in the library — anybody out of breath — check the bathrooms, Miss Parkinson can do the girls' ones — off you go — and you," she added in her softest, most dangerous voice, as Malfoy walked away. "You can come with me to the headmaster's office, Bataskill"

As Umbridge tore Christina away from the Room of Requirement, Christina watched Pansy Parkinson run inside, the door still agate. Christina kept her focus on the others and hoped Pansy would leave soon. They were at the stone gargoyle within minutes. Christina felt dizzy, she couldn't keep up the effort especially so far away . . . she thought quickly again and sent a small piece of stone up to the 7th floor to feel out if anyone was in the room . . . it was an insurmountable task to try and blindly navigate through this castle but had she not done so so frequently with Fred it would have been even more of a challenge. . . at least she reached the room . . .the door was closed! And . . . no one inside! She let her concentration fall and with it a huge weight was off her shoulders.

"Fizzing Whizbee," sang Umbridge, breaking Christina from her journey, and the stone gargoyle jumped aside, the wall behind split open, and they ascended the moving stone staircase. They reached the polished door with the griffin knocker, but Umbridge did not bother to knock, she strode straight inside, still holding tight to Christina. The office was full of people. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his expression serene, the tips of his long fingers together. Professor McGonagall stood rigidly beside him, her face extremely tense. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, was rocking backward and forward on his toes beside the fire, apparently immensely pleased with the situation. Kingsley Shacklebolt and a tough-looking wizard Christina did not recognize with very short, wiry hair were positioned on either side of the door like guards, and the freckled, bespectacled form of Percy Weasley hovered excitedly beside the wall, a quill and a heavy scroll of parchment in his hands, apparently poised to take notes. The portraits of old headmasters and mistresses were not shamming sleep tonight. All of them were watching what was happening below, alert and serious. As Christina entered, a few flitted into neighboring frames and whispered urgently into their neighbors' ears. Christina pulled herself free of Umbridge's grasp as the door swung shut behind them. Cornelius Fudge was glaring at her with a kind of vicious satisfaction upon his face.

"Well," he said. "Well, well, well . . ." Christina replied with the dirtiest look she could muster. Her heart drummed madly inside her, but her brain was oddly cool and clear.

"She was in the secret room," said Umbridge. There was an indecent excitement in her voice, the same callous pleasure Christina had heard as she watched Professor Trelawney dissolving with misery in the entrance hall. "The Malfoy boy cornered her."

"Did he, did he?" said Fudge appreciatively. "I must remember to tell Lucius. Well, Bataskill . . . I expect you know why you are here?" Christina fully intended to respond with a defiant "yes": Her mouth had opened and the word was half formed when she caught sight of Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore was not looking directly at Christina; his eyes were fixed upon a point just over her shoulder, but as Christina stared at him, she shook her head a fraction of an inch to each side. Christina changed direction mid-word. "Yeh — no."

"I beg your pardon?" said Fudge.

"No," said Christina, firmly.

"You don't know why you are here?"

"No, I don't," said Christina. Fudge looked incredulously from Christina to Professor Umbridge; Christina took advantage of his momentary inattention to steal another quick look at Dumbledore, who gave the carpet the tiniest of nods and the shadow of a wink.

"So you have no idea," said Fudge in a voice positively sagging with sarcasm, "why Professor Umbridge has brought you to this office? You are not aware that you have broken any school rules?"

"School rules?" said Christina. "No."

"Or Ministry decrees?" amended Fudge angrily.

"Not that I'm aware of," said Christina blandly. Her heart was still hammering very fast. It was almost worth telling these lies to watch Fudge's blood pressure rising, but she could not see how on earth she would get away with them. If somebody had tipped off Umbridge about the D.A. then she, one of the leaders, might as well be packing her trunk right now.

"So it's news to you, is it," said Fudge, his voice now thick with anger, "that an illegal student organization has been discovered within this school?"

"Yes, it is," said Christina, hoisting an unconvincing look of innocent surprise onto her face.

"I think, Minister," said Umbridge silkily from beside him, "we might make better progress if I fetch our informant."

"Yes, yes, do," said Fudge, nodding, and he glanced maliciously at Dumbledore as Umbridge left the room. "There's nothing like a good witness, is there, Dumbledore?"

"Nothing at all, Cornelius," said Dumbledore gravely, inclining his head. There was a wait of several minutes, in which nobody looked at each other, then Christina heard the door open behind her. Umbridge moved past her into the room, gripping by the shoulder Cho's curly-haired friend Marietta, who was hiding her face in her hands. Christina's hatred for Chang only rose.

"Don't be scared, dear, don't be frightened," said Professor Umbridge softly, patting her on the back, "it's quite all right, now. You have done the right thing. The minister is very pleased with you. He'll be telling your mother what a good girl you've been. Marietta's mother, Minister," she added, looking up at Fudge, "is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation. Floo Network office — she's been helping us police the Hogwarts fires, you know."

"Jolly good, jolly good!" said Fudge heartily. "Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on, now, dear, look up, don't be shy, let's hear what you've got to — galloping gargoyles!" As Marietta raised her head, Fudge leapt backward in shock, nearly landing himself in the fire. He cursed and stamped on the hem of his cloak, which had started to smoke, and Marietta gave a wail and pulled the neck of her robes right up to her eyes, but not before the whole room had seen that her face was horribly disfigured by a series of close-set purple pustules that had spread across her nose and cheeks to form the word "SNEAK."

"Never mind the spots now, dear," said Umbridge impatiently, "just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister —" But Marietta gave another muffled wail and shook her head frantically.

"Oh, very well, you silly girl, I'll tell him," snapped Umbridge. She hitched her sickly smile back onto her face and said, "Well, Minister, Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and told me she had something she wanted to tell me. She said that if I proceeded to a secret room on the seventh floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out something to my advantage. I questioned her a little further and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately at that point this hex," she waved impatiently at Marietta's concealed face, "came into operation and upon catching sight of her face in my mirror the girl became too distressed to tell me any more."

"Well, now," said Fudge, fixing Marietta with what he evidently imagined was a kind and fatherly look. "It is very brave of you, my dear, coming to tell Professor Umbridge, you did exactly the right thing. Now, will you tell me what happened at this meeting? What was its purpose? Who was there?" But Marietta would not speak. She merely shook her head again, her eyes wide and fearful. "Haven't we got a counterjinx for this?" Fudge asked Umbridge impatiently, gesturing at Marietta's face. "So she can speak freely?"

"I have not yet managed to find one," Umbridge admitted grudgingly, and Christina felt a surge of pride in Hermione's jinxing ability. "But it doesn't matter if she won't speak, I can take up the story from here. You will remember, Minister, that I sent you a report back in October that Bataskill and Potter had met a number of fellow students in the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade —"

"And what is your evidence for that?" cut in Professor McGonagall.

"I have testimony from Willy Widdershins, Minerva, who happened to be in the bar at the time. He was heavily bandaged, it is true, but his hearing was quite unimpaired," said Umbridge smugly. "He heard every word Bataskill said and hastened straight to the school to report to me —"

"Oh, so that's why he wasn't prosecuted for setting up all those regurgitating toilets!" said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "What an interesting insight into our justice system!"

"Blatant corruption!" roared the portrait of the corpulent, rednosed wizard on the wall behind Dumbledore's desk. "The Ministry did not cut deals with petty criminals in my day, no sir, they did not!"

"Thank you, Fortescue, that will do," said Dumbledore softly.

"The purpose of Bataskill's meeting with these students," continued Professor Umbridge, "was to persuade them to join an illegal society, whose aim was to learn spells and curses the Ministry has decided are inappropriate for school-age —"

"I think you'll find you're wrong there, Dolores," said Dumbledore quietly, peering at her over the half-moon spectacles perched halfway down his crooked nose. Christina stared at him. She could not see how Dumbledore was going to talk her out of this one; if Willy Widdershins had indeed heard every word she said in the Hog's Head there was simply no escaping it.

"Oho!" said Fudge, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet again. "Yes, do let's hear the latest cock-and-bull story designed to pull Bataskill out of trouble! Go on, then, Dumbledore, go on — Willy Widdershins was lying, was he? Or was it Bataskill's identical twin in the Hog's Head that day? Or is there the usual simple explanation involving a reversal of time, a dead man coming back to life, and a couple of invisible dementors?" Percy Weasley let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, very good, Minister, very good!" Christina could have kicked him. Then she saw, to her astonishment, that Dumbledore was smiling gently too.

"Cornelius, I do not deny — and nor, I am sure, does Christina — that she was in the Hog's Head that day, nor that she was trying to recruit students to a Defense Against the Dark Arts group. I am merely pointing out that Dolores is quite wrong to suggest that such a group was, at that time, illegal. If you remember, the Ministry decree banning all student societies was not put into effect until two days after Christina's Hogsmeade meeting, so she was not breaking any rules in the Hog's Head at all." Percy looked as though he had been struck in the face by something very heavy. Fudge remained motionless in mid-bounce, his mouth hanging open. Umbridge recovered first.

"That's all very fine, Headmaster," she said, smiling sweetly. "But we are now nearly six months on from the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. If the first meeting was not illegal, all those that have happened since most certainly are."

"Well," said Dumbledore, surveying her with polite interest over the top of his interlocked fingers, "they certainly would be, if they had continued after the decree came into effect. Do you have any evidence that these meetings continued?" As Dumbledore spoke, Christina heard a rustle behind her and rather thought Kingsley whispered something. She could have sworn too that she felt something brush against her side, a gentle something like a draft or bird wings, but looking down she saw nothing there.

"Evidence?" repeated Umbridge with that horrible wide toadlike smile. "Have you not been listening, Dumbledore? Why do you think Miss Edgecombe is here?"

"Oh, can she tell us about six months' worth of meetings?" said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows. "I was under the impression that she was merely reporting a meeting tonight."

"Miss Edgecombe," said Umbridge at once, "tell us how long these meetings have been going on, dear. You can simply nod or shake your head, I'm sure that won't make the spots worse. Have they been happening regularly over the last six months?" Christina felt a horrible plummeting in her stomach. This was it, they had hit a dead end of solid evidence that not even Dumbledore would be able to shift aside. . . . "Just nod or shake your head, dear," Umbridge said coaxingly to Marietta. "Come on, now, that won't activate the jinx further. . . ." Everyone in the room was gazing at the top of Marietta's face. Only her eyes were visible between the pulled up robes and her curly fringe. Perhaps it was a trick of the firelight, but her eyes looked oddly blank. And then — to Christina's utter amazement — Marietta shook her head. Umbridge looked quickly at Fudge and then back at Marietta.

"I don't think you understood the question, did you, dear? I'm asking whether you've been going to these meetings for the past six months? You have, haven't you?" Again, Marietta shook her head.

"What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?" said Umbridge in a testy voice.

"I would have thought her meaning was quite clear," said Professor McGonagall harshly. "There have been no secret meetings for the past six months. Is that correct, Miss Edgecombe?" Marietta nodded.

"But there was a meeting tonight!" said Umbridge furiously. "There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Bataskill was the leader, was she not, Bataskill organized it, Bataskill — why are you shaking your head, girl?"

"Well, usually when a person shakes their head," said McGonagall coldly, "they mean 'no.' So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign language as yet unknown to humans —" Professor Umbridge seized Marietta, pulled her around to face her, and began shaking her very hard. A split second later Dumbledore was on his feet, his wand raised. Kingsley started forward and Umbridge leapt back from Marietta, waving her hands in the air as though they had been burned.

"I cannot allow you to manhandle my students, Dolores," said Dumbledore, and for the first time, he looked angry.

"You want to calm yourself, Madam Umbridge," said Kingsley in his deep, slow voice. "You don't want to get yourself into trouble now."

"No," said Umbridge breathlessly, glancing up at the towering figure of Kingsley. "I mean, yes — you're right, Shacklebolt — I — I forgot myself." Marietta was standing exactly where Umbridge had released her. She seemed neither perturbed by Umbridge's sudden attack, nor relieved by her release. She was still clutching her robe up to her oddly blank eyes, staring straight ahead of her. A sudden suspicion connected to Kingsley's whisper and the thing she had felt shoot past her sprang into Christina's mind.

"Dolores," said Fudge, with the air of trying to settle something once and for all, "the meeting tonight — the one we know definitely happened —"

"Yes," said Umbridge, pulling herself together, "yes . . . well, Miss Edgecombe tipped me off and I proceeded at once to the seventh floor, accompanied by certain trustworthy students, so as to catch those in the meeting red-handed. It appears that they were forewarned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the seventh floor they were all gone. It does not matter, however. I have all their names here, Miss Parkinson ran into the Room of Requirement for me to see if they had left anything behind. . . . We needed evidence and the room provided . . ." And to Christina's horror, she withdrew from her pocket the list of names that had been pinned upon the Room of Requirement's wall and handed it to Fudge.

"The moment I saw Bataskill's name on the list, I knew what we were dealing with," she said softly.

"Excellent," said Fudge, a smile spreading across his face. "Excellent, Dolores. And . . . by thunder . . ." He looked up at Dumbledore, who was still standing beside Marietta, his wand held loosely in his hand. "See what they've named themselves?" said Fudge quietly. "Dumbledore's Army." Dumbledore reached out and took the piece of parchment from Fudge. He gazed at the heading scribbled by Hermione months before and for a moment seemed unable to speak. Then he looked up, smiling.

"Well, the game is up," he said simply. "Would you like a written confession from me, Cornelius — or will a statement before these witnesses suffice?" Christina saw McGonagall and Kingsley look at each other. There was fear in both faces. She did not understand what was going on, and neither, apparently, did Fudge.

"Statement?" said Fudge slowly. "What — I don't — ?"

"Dumbledore's Army, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, still smiling as he waved the list of names before Fudge's face. "Not Bataskill's Army. Dumbledore's Army."

"But — but —" Understanding blazed suddenly in Fudge's face. He took a horrified step backward, yelped, and jumped out of the fire again. "You?" he whispered, stamping again on his smoldering cloak.

"That's right," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "You organized this?"

"I did," said Dumbledore. "You recruited these students for — for your army?"

"Tonight was supposed to be the first meeting," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Merely to see whether they would be interested in joining me. I see now that it was a mistake to invite Miss Edgecombe, of course." Marietta nodded. Fudge looked from her to Dumbledore, his chest swelling.

"Then you have been plotting against me!" he yelled.

"That's right," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

"NO!" shouted Christina. Kingsley flashed a look of warning at her, McGonagall widened her eyes threateningly, but it had suddenly dawned upon Christina what Dumbledore was about to do, and she could not let it happen. "No — Professor Dumbledore!"

"Be quiet, Christina, or I am afraid you will have to leave my office," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Yes, shut up, Bataskill!" barked Fudge, who was still ogling Dumbledore with a kind of horrified delight. "Well, well, well — I came here tonight expecting to expel Bataskill and instead —"

"Instead you get to arrest me," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It's like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon, isn't it?"

"Weasley!" cried Fudge, now positively quivering with delight, "Weasley, have you written it all down, everything he's said, his confession, have you got it?"

"Yes, sir, I think so, sir!" said Percy eagerly, whose nose was splattered with ink from the speed of his note-taking.

"The bit about how he's been trying to build up an army against the Ministry, how he's been working to destabilize me?"

"Yes, sir, I've got it, yes!" said Percy, scanning his notes joyfully.

"Very well, then," said Fudge, now radiant with glee. "Duplicate your notes, Weasley, and send a copy to the Daily Prophet at once. If we send a fast owl we should make the morning edition!" Percy dashed from the room, slamming the door behind him, and Fudge turned back to Dumbledore. "You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged and then sent to Azkaban to await trial!"

"Ah," said Dumbledore gently, "yes. Yes, I thought we might hit that little snag."

"Snag?" said Fudge, his voice still vibrating with joy. "I see no snag, Dumbledore!"

"Well," said Dumbledore apologetically, "I'm afraid I do."

"Oh really?"

"Well — it's just that you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am going to — what is the phrase? 'Come quietly' I am afraid I am not going to come quietly at all, Cornelius. I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. I could break out, of course — but what a waste of time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing." Umbridge's face was growing steadily redder, she looked as though she was being filled with boiling water. Fudge stared at Dumbledore with a very silly expression on his face, as though he had just been stunned by a sudden blow and could not quite believe it had happened. He made a small choking noise and then looked around at Kingsley and the man with short gray hair, who alone of everyone in the room had remained entirely silent so far. The latter gave Fudge a reassuring nod and moved forward a little, away from the wall. Christina saw his hand drift, almost casually, toward his pocket.

"Don't be silly, Dawlish," said Dumbledore kindly. "I'm sure you are an excellent Auror, I seem to remember that you achieved 'Outstanding' in all your N.E.W.T.s, but if you attempt to — er — 'bring me in' by force, I will have to hurt you." The man called Dawlish blinked, looking rather foolish. He looked toward Fudge again, but this time seemed to be hoping for a clue as to what to do next.

"So," sneered Fudge, recovering himself, "you intend to take on Dawlish, Shacklebolt, Dolores, and myself single-handed, do you, Dumbledore?" "Merlin's beard, no," said Dumbledore, smiling. "Not unless you are foolish enough to force me to."

"He will not be single-handed!" said Professor McGonagall loudly, plunging her hand inside her robes.

"Oh yes he will, Minerva!" said Dumbledore sharply. "Hogwarts needs you!"

"Enough of this rubbish!" said Fudge, pulling out his own wand. "Dawlish! Shacklebolt! Take him!" A streak of silver light flashed around the room. There was a bang like a gunshot, and the floor trembled. A hand grabbed the scruff of Christina's neck and forced her down on the floor as a second silver flash went off — several of the portraits yelled, Fawkes screeched, and a cloud of dust filled the air. Coughing in the dust, Christina saw a dark figure fall to the ground with a crash in front of her. There was a shriek and a thud and somebody cried, "No!" Then the sound of breaking glass, frantically scuffling footsteps, a groan — and silence. Christina struggled around to see who was half-strangling her and saw Professor McGonagall crouched beside her. She had forced both Christina and Marietta out of harm's way. Dust was still floating gently down through the air onto them. Panting slightly, Christina saw a very tall figure moving toward them.

"Are you all right?" said Dumbledore.

"Yes!" said Professor McGonagall, getting up and dragging Christina and Marietta with her. The dust was clearing. The wreckage of the office loomed into view: Dumbledore's desk had been overturned, all of the spindly tables had been knocked to the floor, their silver instruments in pieces. Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley, and Dawlish lay motionless on the floor. Fawkes the phoenix soared in wide circles above them, singing softly.

"Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious," said Dumbledore in a low voice. "He was remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe's memory like that while everyone was looking the other way — thank him for me, won't you, Minerva? Now, they will all awake very soon and it will be best if they do not know that we had time to communicate — you must act as though no time has passed, as though they were merely knocked to the ground, they will not remember —"

"Where will you go, Dumbledore?" whispered Professor McGonagall. "Grimmauld Place?"

"Oh no," said Dumbledore with a grim smile. "I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he'd never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you. . . ."

"Professor Dumbledore . . ." Christina began. She did not know what to say first: how sorry she was that she had started the D.A. in the first place and caused all this trouble, or how terrible she felt that Dumbledore was leaving to save her from expulsion? But Dumbledore cut her off before she could say another word.

"Listen to me, Christina," he said urgently, "you must study Occlumency as hard as you can, do you understand me? Do everything Professor Snape tells you and practice it particularly every night before sleeping so that you can close your mind to bad dreams — you will understand why soon enough, but you must promise me —" The man called Dawlish was stirring. Dumbledore seized Christina's wrist. "Remember — close your mind —" But as Dumbledore's fingers closed over Christina's skin, a pain shot through the scar on her hand, and she felt again that terrible, snakelike longing to strike Dumbledore, to bite him, to hurt him —

"— you will understand," whispered Dumbledore. Fawkes circled the office and swooped low over him. Dumbledore released Christina, raised his hand, and grasped the phoenix's long golden tail. There was a flash of fire and the pair of them had gone.

"Where is he?" yelled Fudge, pushing himself up from the ground. "Where is he?"

"I don't know!" shouted Kingsley, also leaping to his feet.

"Well, he can't have Disapparated!" cried Umbridge. "You can't inside this school —"

"The stairs!" cried Dawlish, and he flung himself upon the door, wrenched it open, and disappeared, followed closely by Kingsley and Umbridge. Fudge hesitated, then got to his feet slowly, brushing dust from his front. There was a long and painful silence.

"Well, Minerva," said Fudge nastily, straightening his torn shirtsleeve, "I'm afraid this is the end of your friend Dumbledore."

"You think so, do you?" said Professor McGonagall scornfully. Fudge seemed not to hear her. He was looking around at the wrecked office. A few of the portraits hissed at him; one or two even made rude hand gestures.

"You'd better get those two off to bed," said Fudge, looking back at Professor McGonagall with a dismissive nod toward Christina and Marietta. She said nothing, but marched Christina and Marietta to the door. As it swung closed behind them, Christina heard Phineas Nigellus's voice. "You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts . . . but you cannot deny he's got style. . . ."


	28. Chapter 28: Lily and Katy

-BY ORDER OF-

The Ministry of Magic

Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquistor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 _The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight_

Signed:

Cornelius Oswald Fudge

MINISTER OF MAGIC

The notices had gone up all over the school overnight, but they did not explain how every single person within the castle seemed to know that Dumbledore had overcome two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister of Magic, and his Junior Assistant to escape. No matter where Christina went within the castle next day, the sole topic of conversation was Dumbledore's flight, and though some of the details might have gone awry in the retelling (Christina overheard one second-year girl assuring another that Fudge was now lying in St. Mungo's with a pumpkin for a head), it was surprising how accurate the rest of their information was. Everybody seemed aware, for instance, that Christina and Marietta were the only students to have witnessed the scene in Dumbledore's office, and as Marietta was now in the hospital wing, Christina found herself besieged with requests to give a firsthand account wherever she went. The story also took precedent over Christina's aid in helping the other members of the D.A. escape Umbridge's grasp.

"Has anyone asked you . . . you know, how you did it?" Ron asked Christina quietly near the end of Herbology. She stuffed her book back into her bag as she cleaned up her tray table.

"Not really, I think they thought they'd turned invisible. I talked to Hannah and she said she'd never heard of an invisibility charm before . . . "

"Really? I mean they exist . . . not for long periods of time and are quite finicky but-" Hermione interjected.

"The point is, I don't think anyone suspects me, not with Dumbledore's story taking the cake" finished Christina.

"Dumbledore will be back before long," said Ernie Macmillan confidently on the way back from Herbology after listening intently to Christina's story. "They couldn't keep him away in our second year and they won't be able to this time. The Fat Friar told me . . ." He dropped his voice conspiratorially, so that Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had to lean closer to him to hear, ". . . that Umbridge tried to get back into his office last night after they'd searched the castle and grounds for him. Couldn't get past the gargoyle. The Head's office has sealed itself against her." Ernie smirked. "Apparently she had a right little tantrum. . . ."

"Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office," said Hermione viciously, as they walked up the stone steps into the entrance hall. "Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old —"

"Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?" Draco Malfoy had slid out from behind the door, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight with malice. "Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," he drawled.

"It's only teachers that can dock points from Houses, Malfoy," said Ernie at once.

"Yeah, we're prefects too, remember?" snarled Ron.

"I know prefects can't dock points, Weasel King," sneered Malfoy; Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. "But members of the Inquisitorial Squad —"

"The what?" said Christina sharply.

"The Inquisitorial Squad, Babyskill," said Malfoy, pointing toward a tiny silver I upon his robes just beneath his prefect's badge. "A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, handpicked by Professor Umbridge. Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points. . . . So, Babyskill, I'll have five from you for being rude about our new headmistress. . . . Macmillan, five for contradicting me. . . . Five because I don't like you, Potter . . . Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that. . . . Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten for that. . . ." Ron pulled out his wand, but Hermione pushed it away, whispering, "Don't!"

"Wise move, Granger," breathed Malfoy. "New Head, new times . . . Be good now, Potty . . . Weasel King . . ." He strode away, laughing heartily with Crabbe and Goyle.

"He was bluffing," said Ernie, looking appalled. "He can't be allowed to dock points . . . that would be ridiculous. . . . It would completely undermine the prefect system. . . ." But Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had turned automatically toward the giant hourglasses set in niches along the wall behind them, which recorded the House points. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been neck and neck in the lead that morning. Even as they watched, stones flew upward, reducing the amounts in the lower bulbs. In fact, the only glass that seemed unchanged was the emerald-filled one of Slytherin.

"Noticed, have you?" said Fred's voice. He and George had just come down the marble staircase and joined Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie in front of the hourglasses.

"Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points," said Harry furiously, as they watched several more stones fly upward from the Gryffindor hourglass.

"Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break," said George.

"What do you mean, 'tried'?" said Ron quickly, Christina happily high-fived both of them, already guessing as to what they did.

"He never managed to get all the words out," said Fred, "due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor." Hermione looked very shocked. "But you'll get into terrible trouble!"

"Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him," said Fred coolly. Christina let out a hearty laugh. "Anyway . . . we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble anymore."

"Have you ever?" asked Hermione.

" 'Course we have," said George. "Never been expelled, have we?"

"We've always known where to draw the line," said Fred.

"We might have put a toe across it occasionally," said George.

"But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem," said Fred.

"But now?" said Ron tentatively.

"Well, now —" said George.

"— what with Dumbledore gone —" said Fred.

"— we reckon a bit of mayhem —" said George.

"— is exactly what our dear new Head deserves," said Fred.

"You mustn't!" whispered Hermione. "You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!"

"You don't get it, Hermione, do you?" said Fred, smiling at her. "We don't care about staying anymore. We'd walk out right now if we weren't determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So anyway," he checked his watch, "phase one is about to begin. I'd get in the Great Hall for lunch if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can't have had anything to do with it."

"Anything to do with what?" said Hermione anxiously.

"You'll see," said George. "Run along, now." Fred and George turned away and disappeared in the swelling crowd descending the stairs toward lunch. Looking highly disconcerted, Ernie muttered something about unfinished Transfiguration homework and scurried away.

"Christina, tell me they're joking." Christina sighed, knowing that her and Fred's time at Hogwarts together was coming to an end.

"Just let them have this, if they wanna leave with a bang there's nothing you can do about it."

"I think we should get out of here, you know," said Hermione nervously. "Just in case . . ." But Christina was one step ahead of her and was following Fred and George's wake.

"Wait up!" she called after them. George turned first, seeing Christina he threw Fred a look of frustration and then Fred stopped, nodding at George to keep moving. Christina pulled Fred aside to speak privately.

"Is this it? Is this your last day?" Fred laughed slightly and grabbed her shoulders.

"No, no, just phase one," he turned his head to George's direction, "I've really got to go-"

"Fred, please give me a warning as to when I will not be seeing you for several weeks! I deserve to be in the loop!" she stammered. He sighed defeated. "We have the space in Diagon Alley, we just need to finish a few products that we'll be testing here and then we'll leave Hogwarts." he said quickly.

"To go where?" she asked.

"Diagon alley-Christina, I really have to go!"

"I can help you know! If you're doing a huge prank what's better than someone who can basically be invisible?" said Christina, trying desperately to connect with Fred before he would leave. He smiled, seemingly realizing this. He hugged her tightly and kissed the side of her head.

"I love you, I'm gonna need your help, just not yet. Okay now I really have to-"

"Go, I know! Be free! Good luck!" she said as he rushed off in George's direction. Christina went back to the Great Hall and stepped back towards the large oak doors that were the main entrance to the castle and waited. There was no way she was going to miss this. She watched the Great Hall patiently, looking for any sign of Fred or George when she looked to the back where the door to the trophy room stood. She noticed a wand reach out from the door and then -

BOOM!

Somebody (and Christina had a very shrewd idea who) had set off what seemed to be an enormous crate of enchanted fireworks. Dragons comprised entirely of green-and-gold sparks were soaring up and down the Great Hall and exiting onto the corridors, emitting loud fiery blasts and bangs as they went. Shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers. Rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars were ricocheting off the walls. Sparklers were writing swearwords in midair of their own accord. Firecrackers were exploding like mines everywhere Christina looked, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight, or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seemed to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer she watched. Filch and Umbridge were standing, apparently transfixed with horror, halfway down the stairs. As Christina watched, beaming, one of the larger Catherine wheels seemed to decide that what it needed was more room to maneuver; it whirled toward Umbridge and Filch with a sinister wheeeeeeeeee. Both adults yelled with fright and ducked and it soared straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons and a large purple bat that was smoking ominously took advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape toward the second floor.

"Hurry, Filch, hurry!" shrieked Umbridge. "They'll be all over the school unless we do something — Stupefy!" A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow — she ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the painting next door, where a couple of wizards playing cards stood up hastily to make room for her.

"Don't Stun them, Filch!" shouted Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it had been his suggestion.

"Right you are, Headmistress!" wheezed Filch, who was a Squib and could no more have Stunned the fireworks than swallowed them. He dashed to a nearby cupboard, pulled out a broom, and began swatting at the fireworks in midair; within seconds the head of the broom was ablaze. Christina had seen enough. Laughing, she ducked down low, ran to the door to the trophy room and slipped through it to find Fred and George hiding just behind it, listening to Umbridge's and Filch's yells and quaking with suppressed mirth.

"Impressive," Christina said quietly, grinning. "Very impressive . . . You'll put Dr. Filibuster out of business, no problem. . . ."

"Cheers," whispered George, wiping tears of laughter from his face. "Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next. . . . They multiply by ten every time you try. . . ." The fireworks continued to burn and to spread all over the school that afternoon. Though they caused plenty of disruption, particularly the firecrackers, the other teachers did not seem to mind them very much.

"Dear, dear," said Professor McGonagall sardonically, as one of the dragons soared around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhaling flame. "Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the headmistress and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?" The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rang and the students were heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, Christina saw, with immense satisfaction, a disheveled and soot-blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick's classroom.

"Thank you so much, Professor!" said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. "I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether I had the authority. . . ." Beaming, he closed his classroom door in her snarling face.

Fred and George were heroes that night in the Gryffindor common room. Even Hermione fought her way through the excited crowd around them to congratulate them.

"They were wonderful fireworks," she said admiringly.

"Thanks," said George, looking both surprised and pleased. "Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock, we're going to have to start again from scratch now. . . ."

"It was worth it, though," said Fred, placing an arm around Christina while taking orders from clamoring Gryffindors. "If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it's five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe. . . ." Hermione returned to the table where Christina, Harry and Ron were sitting staring at their schoolbags as though hoping their homework might spring out of it and start doing itself.

"Oh, why don't we have a night off?" said Hermione brightly, as a silver-tailed Weasley rocket zoomed past the window. "After all, the Easter holidays start on Friday, we'll have plenty of time then. . . ."

"Are you feeling all right?" Ron asked, staring at her in disbelief.

"Now you mention it," said Hermione happily, "d'you know . . . I think I'm feeling a bit . . . rebellious." Christina could still hear the distant bangs of escaped firecrackers when she and Hermione went up to bed an hour later, and as she got undressed a sparkler floated past the tower, still resolutely spelling out the word POO. She got into bed, yawning. The occasional firework still passing the window became blurred, looking like sparkling clouds, beautiful and mysterious against the black sky. She turned onto her side, wondering how Umbridge was feeling about her first day in Dumbledore's job, and how Fudge would react when he heard that the school had spent most of the day in a state of advanced disruption. . . . Smiling to herself, she closed her eyes. . . . The whizzes and bangs of escaped fireworks in the grounds seemed to be growing more distant . . . or perhaps she, Christina, was simply speeding away from them. . . .

She had fallen right into the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries. She was speeding toward the plain black door. . . . Let it open. . . . Let it open. . . . It did. She was inside the circular room lined with doors. . . . She crossed it, placed her hand upon an identical door, and it swung inward. . . . Now she was in a long, rectangular room full of an odd, mechanical clicking. There were dancing flecks of light on the walls but she did not pause to investigate. . . . She had to go on. . . . There was a door at the far end. . . . It too opened at her touch. . . . And now she was in a dimly lit room as high and wide as a church, full of nothing but rows and rows of towering shelves, each laden with small, dusty, spun-glass spheres. . . . Now Christina's heart was beating fast with excitement. . . . She knew where to go. . . . She ran forward, but her footsteps made no noise in the enormous, deserted room. . . . There was something in this room she wanted very, very much. . . . Something she wanted. . . . or somebody else wanted. . . . Her scar was hurting. . . . BANG!

Christina awoke instantly, confused and angry. The dark dormitory was full of the sound of laughter.

"Pretty!" said Lavender, who was silhouetted against the window. "The Catherine wheels hit a rocket and it's like they mated, come and see!" Christina heard Hermione and Pavarti scramble out of bed for a better look. She lay quite still and silent while the pain in her scar subsided and disappointment washed over her. She felt as though a wonderful treat had been snatched from her at the very last moment. . . . She had got so close that time. . . .

Glittering, pink-and-silver winged piglets were now soaring past the windows of Gryffindor Tower. Christina lay and listened to the appreciative whoops of Gryffindors in the dormitories below them. Her stomach gave a sickening jolt as she remembered that she had Occlumency later that week. . . .

Christina spent the next few days dreading what Snape was going to say if he found out how much farther into the Department of Mysteries she had penetrated during her last dream. With a surge of guilt she realized that she had not practiced Occlumency once since their last lesson: There had been too much going on since Dumbledore had left. She was sure she would not have been able to empty her mind even if he had tried. She doubted, however, whether Snape would accept that excuse. . . .in fact that only thing to lift her spirits was hearing from Harry that he had berated Cho Chang about Marietta.

"She was trying to tell me how nice she was, that she had so much stress from her mum being in the ministry-"

"My dad's in the ministry!" said Ron indigently.

"That's what I said!" Harry said back. Both Christina and Hermione shook their heads in disbelief.

Christina attempted a little last-minute practice during classes that day, but it was no good, Ron kept asking her what was wrong whenever she fell silent trying to rid herself of all thought and emotion and, after all, the best moment to empty her brain was not while teachers were firing review questions at the class. Resigned to the worst, she set off for Snape's office after dinner.

Christina gloomily descended the stairs to Snape's dungeon, and though she knew from experience how much easier it would be for Snape to penetrate her mind if she arrived angry and resentful.

"You're late, Bataskill," said Snape coldly, as Christina closed the door behind her. Snape was standing with his back to Christina, removing, as usual, certain of his thoughts and placing them carefully in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He dropped the last silvery strand into the stone basin and turned to face Christina.

"So," he said. "Have you been practicing?"

"Yes," Christina lied, looking carefully at one of the legs of Snape's desk.

"Well, we'll soon find out, won't we?" said Snape smoothly. "Arms out, Bataskill" and as usual, Christina showed Snape her wrists and he muttered something seemingly Italian and red rings appeared around her wrists, bright and menacing.

"Wand out." Christina moved into her usual position, facing Snape with the desk between them. Her heart was pumping fast with anxiety about how much Snape was about to extract from her mind.

"On the count of three then," said Snape lazily. "One — two —" Snape's office door banged open and Draco Malfoy sped in, Christina quickly covered her wrists in her robes.

"Professor Snape, sir — oh — sorry —" Malfoy was looking at Snape and Christina in some surprise.

"It's all right, Draco," said Snape, lowering his wand. "Bataskill is here for a little Remedial Potions." Christina had not seen Malfoy look so gleeful since Umbridge had turned up to inspect Hagrid.

"I didn't know," he said, leering at Christina, who knew her face was burning. She would have given a great deal to be able to shout the truth at Malfoy — or, even better, to hit him with a good curse.

"Well, Draco, what is it?" asked Snape.

"It's Professor Umbridge, sir — she needs your help," said Malfoy.

"They've found Montague, sir. He's turned up jammed inside a toilet on the fourth floor." Christina gave out a small snort with a smile and Draco and Snape both turned on heel to glower at her.

"You think this is funny do you?" Draco snapped.

"How did he get in there?" demanded Snape.

"I don't know, sir, he's a bit confused. . . ."

"Very well, very well — Bataskill," said Snape, "we shall resume this lesson tomorrow evening instead." He waved his wand to release the rings and turned and swept from his office. Malfoy mouthed "Remedial Potions?" at Christina behind Snape's back before following him. Seething, Christina replaced her wand inside her robes and made to leave the room. At least she had twenty-four more hours in which to practice; she knew she ought to feel grateful for the narrow escape, though it was hard that it came at the expense of Malfoy telling the whole school that she needed Remedial Potions. . . .

She was at the office door when she saw it: a patch of shivering light dancing on the door frame. She stopped, looking at it, reminded of something. . . . Then she remembered: It was a little like the lights he had seen in his dream last night, the lights in the second room she had walked through on her journey through the Department of Mysteries. She turned around. The light was coming from the Pensieve sitting on Snape's desk. The silver-white contents were ebbing and swirling within. Snape's thoughts . . . things he did not want Christina to see if she broke through Snape's defenses accidentally. . . . Christina gazed at the Pensieve, curiosity welling inside her. . . . What was it that Snape was so keen to hide from Christina? The silvery lights shivered on the wall. . . . Christina took two steps toward the desk, thinking hard. Could it possibly be information about the Department of Mysteries that Snape was determined to keep from her?

Christina looked over her shoulder, her heart now pumping harder and faster than ever. How long would it take Snape to release Montague from the toilet? Would he come straight back to his office afterward, or accompany Montague to the hospital wing? Surely the latter . . . Montague was Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Snape would want to make sure he was all right. . . . Christina walked the remaining few feet to the Pensieve and stood over it, gazing into its depths. She hesitated, listening, then pulled out her wand again. The office and the corridor beyond were completely silent. She gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of her wand. The silvery stuff within began to swirl very fast. Christina leaned forward over it and saw that it had become transparent. She was, once again, looking down into a room as though through a circular window in the ceiling. . . . In fact, unless she was much mistaken, she was looking down upon the Great Hall. . . . Her breath was actually fogging the surface of Snape's thoughts. . . . Her brain seemed to be in limbo. . . . It would be insane to do the thing that she was so strongly tempted to do. . . . She was trembling. . . . Snape could be back at any moment . . . but Christina thought of Fred and George's fireworks, of Malfoy's jeering face, and a reckless daring seized her. She took a great gulp of breath and plunged her face into the surface of Snape's thoughts. At once, the floor of the office lurched, tipping Christina headfirst into the Pensieve. . . . She was falling through cold blackness, spinning furiously as she went, and then —

She was standing outside the door to the Slytherin dungeons when Snape-the-teenager walked out holding his bag, long nose nearly touching the book he had his face buried in. Snape had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant kept in the dark. He walked up the stone steps leading to the Main Hall and Christina followed. Snape and Christina reached the top of the stone steps that lead to the Great Hall when Snape made a b-line for the broom closet. He took out a piece of parchment from the pocket of his robes and when he opened the door he stumbled upon two people intertwined within one-another, furiously snogging. The boy's head whipped around to the sudden sunlight and Christina nearly fell over when she saw the dark haired boy's face. It was Sirius Black.

"So you like to watch, eh, Snivellius?" The girl in the closet covered her face and ran out, her long brown hair following behind her as she ran into the Great Hall. Snape stammered, "I - you-"

"Out my way!" and Sirius pushed Snape aside, littering Snape's bag's contents onto the floor as well as the bit of parchment he was holding. He begrudgingly picked them up and strode into the Great Hall, pushing back some of his greasy hair behind his ears.

In the Great Hall the four House tables were gone. Instead there were more than a hundred smaller tables, all facing the same way, at each of which sat a student or a student taking their seat, taking out more parchment, quills, and ink. It was clearly exam time. Sunshine was streaming through the high windows onto the bent heads, which shone chestnut and copper and gold in the bright light.

Christina watched Snape take his seat and begin writing on his parchment. His hair was lank and greasy and was flopping onto the table, his hooked nose barely half an inch from the surface of the parchment as he scribbled. Christina moved around behind Snape and read the heading of the examination paper: DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS - ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL

So Snape had to be twenty-one or twenty-two, around Christina's own age. His hand was flying across the parchment; he had written at least a foot more than his closest neighbors, and yet his writing was minuscule and cramped. The memory seemed to be going at twice the speed because not before long, people started setting quills down.

"Five more minutes!" The voice made Christina jump; turning, she saw the top of Professor Flitwick's head moving between the desks a short distance away. Professor Flitwick was walking past a girl with golden brown hair . . . very golden brown hair. . . . Christina moved so quickly that, had she been solid, she would have knocked desks flying. Instead she seemed to slide, dreamlike, across two aisles and up a third. The back of the brown-haired girl's head drew nearer and nearer. . . . She was straightening up now, putting down her quill, pulling her roll of parchment toward her so as to reread what she had written. . . . Christina stopped in front of the desk and gazed down at her twenty-one year old mother. Excitement exploded in the pit of her stomach: It was as though she was looking at herself but with deliberate mistakes. Katherine's eyes were green, her lips slightly thinner than Christina's, and there was more make-up on her, but they had the same thin face, same nose, same eyebrows. Katherine's hair the same color as Christina's, her hands could have been Christina's despite the lack of the scar, and Christina could tell that when Katherine stood up, they would be within an inch of each other's heights.

Christina looked around the room to find her father but was greeted with another shock of excitement, Christina saw Sirius give Harry's dad James the thumbs-up. Sirius was lounging in his chair at his ease, tilting it back on two legs. He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James's nor Harry's could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn't seem to have noticed. And two seats along from this girl — Christina's stomach gave another pleasurable squirm — was Remus Lupin. He looked rather pale and peaky (was the full moon approaching?) and was absorbed in the exam: As he reread his answers he scratched his chin with the end of his quill, frowning slightly. So that meant Wormtail had to be around here somewhere too . . . and sure enough, Christina spotted him within seconds: a small, mousy-haired boy with a pointed nose. Wormtail looked anxious; he was chewing his fingernails, staring down at his paper, scuffing the ground with his toes. Every now and then he glanced hopefully at his neighbor's paper. Christina stared at Wormtail for a moment, then back to the rest of the room to search for her father.

"Quills down, please!" squeaked Professor Flitwick. "That means you too, Stebbins! Please remain seated while I collect your parchment! Accio!" More than a hundred rolls of parchment zoomed into the air and into Professor Flitwick's outstretched arms, knocking him backward off his feet. Several people laughed. A couple of students at the front desks got up, took hold of Professor Flitwick beneath the elbows, and lifted him onto his feet again.

"Thank you . . . thank you," panted Professor Flitwick. "Very well, everybody, you're free to go!" Christina looked down at her mother jumping to her feet, stuffing her quill and the exam question paper into her bag, which she slung over her shoulder. Two girls came rushing over to Katherine and they exited the hall together. Christina didn't recognize either at first, and then the red hair and eyes of the first girl shocked her, Lily Evans, Harry's mum. Christina watched as the girls would open their mouths to talk but no sound produced. She turned and saw Snape leaving just behind James, Sirius, Lupin and Wormtail, the memory did not support her mum or her friends conversation, she had to follow Snape. Christina looked back to her mother for one last fleeting moment, and as the memory started to collapse she rushed back to Snape and the boys.

When Sirius, Lupin and the others strode off down the lawn toward the lake, Snape followed, still poring over the paper and apparently with no fixed idea of where he was going. By jogging a little ahead of him, Christina managed to maintain a close watch on Sirius, Lupin and the others.

"Well, I thought that paper was a piece of cake," she heard Sirius say. "I'll be surprised if I don't get Outstanding on it at least."

"Me too," said James. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a struggling Golden Snitch. "Where'd you get that?"

"Nicked it," said James casually. He started playing with the Snitch, allowing it to fly as much as a foot away and seizing it again; his reflexes were excellent. Wormtail watched him in awe. They stopped in the shade of the very same beech tree on the edge of the lake where Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had spent a Sunday finishing their homework, and threw themselves down on the grass. Christina looked over her shoulder yet again and saw, to her delight, that Snape had settled himself on the grass in the dense shadows of a clump of bushes. He was as deeply immersed in the O.W.L. paper as ever, which left Christina free to sit down on the grass between the beech and the bushes and watch the foursome under the tree.

The sunlight was dazzling on the smooth surface of the lake, on the bank of which the group of laughing girls who had just left the Great Hall were sitting with shoes and socks off, cooling their feet in the water. Christina recognized Katherine and Lily instantly but couldn't get closer. Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so. James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom farther and farther away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second, something Christina distinctly remembered Harry doing once or twice before. Wormtail was watching James with his mouth open. Every time James made a particularly difficult catch Wormtail gasped and applauded. After five minutes of this, Christina wondered why James didn't tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention.

"Put that away, will you?" said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer. "Before Wormtail wets himself from excitement." Wormtail turned slightly pink but Christina grinned, she always related to Sirius when it came to humor.

"If it bothers you," he said, stuffing the Snitch back in his pocket. Christina had the distinct impression that Sirius was the only one for whom James would have stopped showing off.

"I'm bored," said Sirius. "Wish it was full moon."

"You might," said Lupin darkly from behind his book. "We've still got Transfiguration, if you're bored you could test me. . . . Here." He held out his book. Sirius snorted. "I don't need to look at that rubbish, I know it all."

"This'll liven you up, Padfoot," said James quietly. "Look who it is. . . ." Sirius's head turned. He had become very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit.

"Excellent," he said softly. "Snivellus." Christina turned to see what Sirius was looking at. Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the O.W.L. paper in his bag. As he emerged from the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up. Lupin and Wormtail remained sitting: Lupin was still staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows. Wormtail was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face.

"All right, Snivellus?" said James loudly. Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack: Dropping his bag, he plunged his hand inside his robes, and his wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Snape's wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

"Impedimenta!" he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet, halfway through a dive toward his own fallen wand. Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had gotten to their feet and were edging nearer to watch. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained. Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands up, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water's edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

"How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" said James.

"I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," said Sirius viciously. "There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word." Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes.

"You — wait," he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing. "You — wait. . . ."

"Wait for what?" said Sirius coolly. "What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?" Snape let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but his wand being ten feet away nothing happened.

"Wash out your mouth," said James coldly. "Scourgify!" Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape's mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him —

"Leave him ALONE!" James and Sirius looked around. James's free hand jumped to his hair again. It was Lily who shouted, with the back up of Katherine, arms folded, looking positively deadly.

"All right, Evans? I see you've come prepared for battle." said James eyeing Katherine. It was odd, it was as thought the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.

"Leave him alone," Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. "What's he done to you?"

"Well," said James, appearing to deliberate the point, "it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean. . . ." Christina saw Katherine tilt her head down to cover a smirk, just as Christina has done nearly every day of her life. Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn't, and neither did Lily.

"You think you're funny," she said coldly. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone."

"I will if you go out with me, Evans," said James quickly. "Go on . . . Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again." Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch toward his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid," said Lily.

"Bad luck, Prongs," said Sirius briskly, turning back to Snape. "OY!" But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James's face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants. Christina's hand flew over her mouth to cover it and she noticed her mother do the same. Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter. Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, "Let him down!"

"Certainly," said James and he jerked his wand upward. Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes, he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius said, "Petrificus Totalus!" and Snape keeled over again at once, rigid as a board.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Lily shouted. She and Katherine had their own wands out now. James and Sirius eyed them warily.

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," said James earnestly.

"Come, now Katy you really don't want to fight us." said Sirius, oozing with charm. My mom went by Katy?

"'Fraid I'll knock you down too quickly?" she said, flirting back. She saw Sirius wink and then blow her a kiss. Christina just rolled her eyes. Lily stamped her foot down.

"Take the curse off him!"

James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the countercurse. "There you go," he said, as Snape struggled to his feet again, "you're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus —"

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" Lily blinked. Katherine raised her wand, "Hey!"

"Fine," she said coolly, outstretching an arm to stop Katherine. "I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus."

"Apologize to Evans!" James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.

"I don't want you to make him apologize," Lily shouted, rounding on James. "You're as bad as he is. . . ."

"What?" yelped James. "I'd NEVER call you a — you-know-what!"

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK." She turned on her heel and hurried away with Katherine.

"Evans!" James shouted after her, "Hey, EVANS!" Katherine turned to look back and Christina saw to her surprise, Sirius winking at her again.

"What is it with her?" said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.

"Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate," said Sirius.

"Right," said James, who looked furious now, "right —" There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside down in the air. "Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"

But whether James really did take off Snape's pants, Christina never found out. A hand had closed tight over her upper arm, closed with a pincerlike grip. Wincing, Christina looked around to see who had hold of her, and saw, with a thrill of horror, a fully grown, adult-sized Snape standing right beside her, white with rage.

"Having fun?" Christina felt herself rising into the air. The summer's day evaporated around her, she was floating upward through icy blackness, Snape's hand still tight upon her upper arm. Then, with a swooping feeling as though she had turned head over heels in midair, her feet hit the stone floor of Snape's dungeon, and she was standing again beside the Pensieve on Snape's desk in the shadowy, present-day Potions master's study.

"So," said Snape, gripping Christina's arm so tightly Christina's hand was starting to feel numb. "So . . . been enjoying yourself, Bataskill?"

"N-no . . ." said Christina, dematerializing her arm from under Snape and stepping away. This seemed to only anger him further. He snatched at her and grabbed the collar of her shirt and yanked it forward bring Christina's face just inches from his sweaty one. It was scary: Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared.

"Don't you _dare_ use your precious powers in my presence again" said Snape spitting onto Christina while shaking her so hard that her hair covered most of her face.

"I — just-" Snape threw Christina from him with all his might. Christina fell hard onto one of the tables and it slid back from under her and she hit the dungeon floor.

"You will not tell anybody what you saw!" Snape bellowed.

"No," said Christina, getting to her feet as far from Snape as she could. "No, of course I w —"

"You and Potter both two of a kind, Potter an arrogant brute and Black a bigheaded clown!"

"Lupin is my uncle, not Sirius! He didn't engage!" Christina said trying to reason but didn't ultimately understand why she was even speaking at this point. Snape's furious face started to smile the most sickening smile Christina had ever seen.

"You truly are the dumbest student I have ever had" Christina just stared back at him, woefully confused. Snape then riled back up, "Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!" And as Christina hurtled toward the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over her head. She wrenched the door open and flew away up the corridor, stopping only when she had put three floors between herself and Snape. There she leaned against the wall, panting, and rubbing her bruised arm. She had no desire at all to return to Gryffindor Tower so early, nor to tell Harry, Ron and Hermione what she had just seen.

What was making Christina feel so horrified and unhappy was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at her — it was that she knew how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, knew exactly how Snape had felt as James and Sirius had taunted him, and started to slowly piece together just which girl was in the closet with Sirius.


	29. Chapter 29: Give Her Hell

"But why haven't you got Occlumency lessons anymore?" said Hermione, frowning.

"I've told you," Christina muttered. "Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I've got the basics. . . ."

"So you've stopped having funny dreams?" said Hermione skeptically.

"Pretty much," said Christina, not looking at her. Harry eyed Christina suspiciously but continued eating his food.

"Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!" said Hermione indignantly. "Christina, I think you should go back to him and ask —"

"No," said Christina forcefully. "Just drop it, Hermione, okay?"

It was the first day of the Easter holidays and Hermione, as was her custom, had spent a large part of the day drawing up study schedules for the four of them. Christina, Harry and Ron had let her do it — it was easier than arguing with her and, in any case, they might come in useful. Ron had been startled to discover that there were only six weeks left until their exams.

"How can that come as a shock?" Hermione demanded, as she tapped each little square on Ron's schedule with her wand so that it flashed a different color according to its subject.

"I dunno . . ." said Ron, "there's been a lot going on. . . ."

"Well, there you are," she said, handing him his schedule, "if you follow that you should do fine." Ron looked down it gloomily, but then brightened. "You've given me an evening off every week!"

"That's for Quidditch practice," said Hermione. The smile faded from Ron's face.

"What's the point?" he said. "We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister of Magic. . . ." Hermione said nothing. She was looking at Christina, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall of the common room while Crookshanks pawed at her hand, trying to get his ears scratched.

"What's wrong, Christina?"

"What?" she said quickly. "Nothing . . ." She seized his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and pretended to be looking something up in the index. Crookshanks gave her up as a bad job and slunk away under Hermione's chair.

"I saw Cho earlier," said Hermione tentatively to Harry, "and she looked really miserable too. . . . Have you two had a row again?"

"Wha — oh yeah, we have," said Harry, seizing gratefully on the excuse. "What about?"

"That sneak friend of hers, Marietta," said Harry.

"Yeah, well, I don't blame you!" said Ron angrily, setting down his study schedule. "If it hadn't been for her . . ." Ron went into a rant about Marietta Edgecombe, which Christina found helpful. All she had to do was look angry, nod, and say "yeah" and "that's right" whenever Ron drew breath, leaving her mind free to dwell on the pensieve, ever more miserably, on Fred's soon departure. She wasn't sure what was killing her more, the constant insinuation that she was so very much like Sirius and that she had seen her mother and Sirius together, or that her very own closet lover was leaving at any moment.

The images from the pensieve were disturbing to think about, James and Sirius readily abusing Snape and Lupin just sitting there ignoring. Christina had once overheard Professor McGonagall saying that James and Sirius had been troublemakers at school, but she had described them as forerunners of the Weasley twins, and Christina could not imagine Fred and George dangling someone upside down for the fun of it . . . not unless they really loathed them . . . Perhaps Malfoy, or somebody who really deserved it . . . But Katherine and Christina just laughed along like the rest of them. Christina couldn't help but dwell on the possibility and the implications of Snape's phrasing. You and Potter two of a kind . . . and then referring to James and Sirius? She didn't like it. She didn't like the notion that her father wasn't really her father and that for the past twenty-one years everyone had lied to her . . . but still . . . to have a parent that was still alive? No. It was cruel to even think. Her father was dead, her mother was married to a man that wasn't Sirius, and that was the end of that. 'You're the dumbest student I've ever had . . .

The weather grew breezier, brighter, and warmer as the holidays passed, but Christina was stuck with the rest of the fifth and seventh years, who were all trapped inside, traipsing back and forth to the library. Christina pretended that her bad mood had no other cause but the approaching exams, and as her fellow Gryffindors were sick of studying themselves, her excuse went unchallenged.

"Christina, I'm talking to you, can you hear me?"

"Huh?" She looked around. Fred, looking very windswept, had joined her at the library table where she had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening; Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to review Ancient Runes; Ron had Quidditch practice and Harry was still meeting with Snape for Occlumency lessons.

"Oh hi," said Christina, pulling her books back toward her. "I figured you'd be with George and Lee, planning and what not . . ."

"Planning is all over, you're all mine!" he said cheerfully, Christina struggling to give him a smile and poked her cheek. "Stop it. This is the right thing, and knowing me I'll be here every weekend anyways . . ."

"You better." said Christina in a mock-seriousness that said she wanted to see him yet didn't want to force it upon him. He winked back and Christina's stomach lurched, remembering Sirius doing the same.

"Anyway . . . a package just arrived, it's only just got through Umbridge's new screening process. . . ." He hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper onto the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly rewrapped, and there was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading inspected and passed by the hogwarts high inquisitor.

"It's Easter eggs from Mum," said Fred. "There's one for you. . . . There you go. . . ." He handed her a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced brooms and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizbees.

"Are you okay, Christina?" asked Fred quietly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Christina gruffly.

"You seem really down lately," Fred persisted. "Is it just about me -"

"I broke into Snape's pensieve and saw my mom as a student here in Snape's memories." Christina blurted out all at once. Fred blinked at her, trying to search for the words . . . "What?"

"At Occlumency, I looked into his memories and I saw his Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL exam and I saw my mom snogging Sirius and then saw Harry's dad and Sirius hex Snape-"

"Nice."

"No, not nice! Everyone always says how much like Sirius I am, what if I'm-" Fred laughed.

"Is that what your worried about? Christina, there is no way. Just no way that Sirius is related to you. Is this what you're so upset about?"

"That . . . and you, obviously." Fred nodded and then laughed again, "Christina, we say you're like Sirius because both of you don't care about breaking rules or about getting in trouble. If that were cause for parentage then Sirius would be George and my triplet." Christina pondered this and then laughed slightly, it was true. Sirius and Christina didn't look very much alike. Sirius with much darker hair than Christina's and both faces were completely different. . . she sighed.

"I wish I could talk to Sirius," she muttered. "But I know I can't." More to give herself something to do than because she really wanted any, Christina unwrapped her Easter egg, broke off a large bit, and put it into her mouth.

"Well," said Fred slowly, helping himself to a bit of egg too, "if you really want to talk to Sirius, I expect we could think of a way to do it. . . ."

"Come on," said Christina hopelessly. "With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail?"

"The thing about being Sirius' triplet," said Fred thoughtfully, "is that with this much disrespect for rules, anything is possible." Christina looked at him. Perhaps it was the effect of the chocolate — Lupin had always advised eating some after encounters with dementors — or simply because she had finally spoken aloud the wish that had been burning inside her for a week, but she felt a bit more hopeful. . . .

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"

"That's my cue," whispered Fred, jumping to his feet. Madam Pince was swooping down upon them, her shriveled face contorted with rage. '

"Chocolate in the library!" she screamed. "Out — out — OUT!" And whipping out her wand, she caused Christina's books, bag, and ink bottle to chase her and Fred from the library, whacking them repeatedly over the head as they ran.

As though to underline the importance of their upcoming examinations, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets, and notices concerning various Wizarding careers appeared on the tables in Gryffindor Tower shortly before the end of the holidays, along with yet another notice on the board, which read:

 **All fifth years will be required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the Summer term, in which they will be given the opportunity to discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below.**

Christina looked down the list and found that she was expected in Professor McGonagall's office at three on Monday, which would mean missing most of Divination. She and the other fifth years spent a considerable part of the final weekend of the Easter break reading all the career information that had been left there for their perusal but Christina also snuck away with Fred to the only place left on school grounds they could be alone in; the shrieking shack. With Umbridge basically sealing off the Room of Requirement it was the only place left. Fred and Christina would seal themselves away for hours, producing magic, snogging, having long bouts of sex where Christina tried not to remember that these sessions would soon end. It's just like when we leave for summer . . . you'll see each other . . .

"By the way," Fred said casually next to her after exiting her body, sweaty and exhausted, "I was talking to George about you talking to Sirius. If you think about it, it's a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we have been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the Easter holidays? What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time? No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's studying too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do."

"Is this a speech you've prepared? Because whatever it is I'm in." Christina said, still slightly out of breath. Fred smiled, but went back into his speech.

"But it's business as usual from tomorrow," Fred continued briskly. "we're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact if everybody's in the corridors — Christina, we'll set it off in the east wing somewhere, draw her right away from her own office — I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?" he said, looking at her.

"Umbridge's office . . . alright! What sort of diversion is it?" asked Christina.

"You'll see," said Fred mysteriously. But Christina just shook her head.

"No, Fred, I won't I'll be in the office."

"Oh . . . right, well then you'll hear about it. Consider it my going away present to you. 5 o'clock tomorrow."

Christina awoke very early the next day, feeling almost as anxious as she had done on the morning of her hearing at the Ministry of Magic. It was not only the prospect of breaking into Umbridge's office and using her fire to speak to Sirius that was making her feel nervous, though that was certainly bad enough — today also happened to be the first time she would be in close proximity with Snape since Snape had thrown her out of his office, as they had Potions that day. After lying in bed for a while thinking about the day ahead, Christina got up very quietly and moved across to the window beside Pavarti's bed, staring out on a truly glorious morning. The sky was a clear, misty, opalescent blue. Directly ahead of her, Christina could see the towering beech tree below which Sirius once tormented Snape. She was not sure what Sirius could possibly say to her that would make up for what she had seen in the Pensieve, but she was desperate to hear Sirius's own account of what had happened, to know of any mitigating factors there might have been, any truth to the rumors swirling around her head . .

Something caught Christina's attention: movement on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Christina squinted into the sun and saw Hagrid emerging from between the trees. He seemed to be limping. As Christina watched, Hagrid staggered to the door of his cabin and disappeared inside it. Christina watched the cabin for several minutes. Hagrid did not emerge again, but smoke furled from the chimney, so Hagrid could not be so badly injured that he was unequal to stoking the fire. . . .

Christina turned away from the window, headed back to her trunk, and started to dress. With the prospect of forcing entry into Umbridge's office ahead, Christina had never expected the day to be a restful one, but when Fred mentioned to Christina the plan and Hermione overheard at the breakfast table, her almost continual attempts to dissuade Christina from what she was planning to do at five o'clock were admirable. For the first time ever, she was at least as inattentive to Professor Binns in History of Magic as Christina, Harry and Ron were, keeping up a stream of whispered admonitions that Christina tried very hard to ignore.

". . . and if she does catch you there, apart from being expelled, she'll be able to guess you've been talking to Snuffles and this time I expect she'll force you to drink Veritaserum and answer her questions. . . ."

"Hermione," said Ron in a low and indignant voice, "are you going to stop telling Christina off and listen to Binns, or am I going to have to take notes instead?"

"You take notes for a change, it won't kill you!"

By the time they reached the dungeons, no one was speaking to Hermione any longer. Undeterred, she took advantage of their silence to maintain an uninterrupted flow of dire warnings, all uttered under her breath in a vehement hiss that caused Seamus to waste five whole minutes checking his cauldron for leaks. Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Christina were invisible. In fact, compared to what she usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, she found the new approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, she was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson she scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it, and took it up to Snape's desk for marking, feeling that she might at last have scraped an E. She had just turned away when she heard a smashing noise; Malfoy gave a gleeful yell of laughter. Christina whipped around again. Her potion sample lay in pieces on the floor, and Snape was watching her with a look of gloating pleasure.

"Whoops," he said softly. "Another zero, then, Bataskill . . ." Christina was too incensed to speak. She strode back to her cauldron, intending to fill another flask and force Snape to mark it, but saw to her horror that the rest of the contents had vanished.

"I'm sorry!" said Hermione with her hands over her mouth. "I'm really sorry, Christina, I thought you'd finished, so I cleared up!" Christina could not bring herself to answer. When the bell rang she hurried out of the dungeon without a backward glance and made sure that she found herself a seat between Fred and George for lunch so that Hermione could not start nagging her about using Umbridge's office again. She was in such a bad mood by the time that she got to Divination that she had quite forgotten her career appointment with Professor McGonagall, remembering only when Harry left for his two-thirty appointment. It wasn't long before Christina too was walking over to Professor McGonagall's office for her appointment.

"Have a seat, Bataskill" she said briskly, but as she spoke, somebody else sniffed from the corner. Christina looked around. Professor Umbridge was sitting there, a clipboard on her knee, a fussy little pie-frill around her neck, and a small, horribly smug smile on her face.

"Sit down, Bataskill," said Professor McGonagall tersely. Her hands shook slightly as she shuffled the many pamphlets littering her desk. Christina sat down with her back to Umbridge and did her best to pretend she could not hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill on her clipboard.

"Well, Bataskill, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into sixth and seventh years," said Professor McGonagall. "Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"

"Er," said Christina. She was finding the scratching noise from behind her very distracting.

"Yes?" Professor McGonagall prompted Christina.

"Well, I thought of, maybe, being an Auror," Christina mumbled.

"You'd need top grades for that," said Professor McGonagall, extracting a small, dark leaflet from under the mass on her desk and opening it. "They ask for a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s, and nothing under 'Exceeds Expectations' grade, I see. Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It's a difficult career path, Bataskill; they only take the best. In fact, I don't think anybody has been taken on in the last three years." At this moment Professor Umbridge gave a very tiny cough, as though she was trying to see how quietly she could do it. Professor McGonagall ignored her.

"You'll want to know which subjects you ought to take, I suppose?" she went on, talking a little more loudly than before.

"Yes," said Christina. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, I suppose?"

"Naturally," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "I would also advise —" Professor Umbridge gave another cough, a little more audible this time. Professor McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again, and continued as though nothing had happened. "I would also advise Transfiguration, because Aurors frequently need to Transfigure or Untransfigure in their work. And I ought to tell you now, Bataskill, that I do not accept students into my N.E.W.T. classes unless they have achieved 'Exceeds Expectations' or higher at Ordinary Wizarding Level. I'd say you're on the path there but you need to deliver for the you ought to do Charms, always useful, and Potions. Yes, Bataskill, Potions," she added, with the merest flicker of a smile.

"Poisons and antidotes are essential study for Aurors. And I must tell you that Professor Snape absolutely refuses to take students who get anything other than 'Outstanding' in their O.W.L.s, so —" Professor Umbridge gave her most pronounced cough yet.

"May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?" Professor McGonagall asked curtly, without looking at Professor Umbridge.

"Oh no, thank you very much," said Umbridge, with that simpering laugh Christina hated so much. "I just wondered whether I could make the teensiest interruption, Minerva?"

"I daresay you'll find you can," said Professor McGonagall through tightly gritted teeth. "I was just wondering whether Ms. Bataskill has quite the temperament for an Auror?" said Professor Umbridge sweetly.

"Were you?" said Professor McGonagall haughtily. "Well, Bataskill," she continued, as though there had been no interruption, "if you are serious in this ambition, I would advise you to concentrate hard on bringing your Potions up to scratch. I see Professor Flitwick has graded you 'Outstanding' for the last two years, so your Charm work seems satisfactory; as for Defense Against the Dark Arts, your marks have been generally high, Professor Lupin in particular thought you — are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Dolores?"

"Oh, no need, thank you, Minerva," simpered Professor Umbridge, who had just coughed her loudest yet. "I was just concerned that you might not have Christina's most recent Defense Against the Dark Arts marks in front of you. I'm quite sure I slipped in a note . . ."

"What, this thing?" said Professor McGonagall in a tone of revulsion, as she pulled a sheet of pink parchment from between the leaves of Christina's folder. She glanced down it, her eyebrows slightly raised, then placed it back into the folder without comment.

"Yes, as I was saying, Bataskill, Professor Lupin thought you showed a pronounced aptitude for the subject, and obviously for an Auror —"

"Did you not understand my note, Minerva?" asked Professor Umbridge in honeyed tones, quite forgetting to cough.

"Of course I understood it," said Professor McGonagall, her teeth clenched so tightly that the words came out a little muffled.

"Well, then, I am confused. . . . I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you can give Ms. Bataskill false hope that —"

"False hope?" repeated Professor McGonagall, still refusing to look round at Professor Umbridge. "She has achieved high marks in all her Defense Against the Dark Arts tests —"

"I'm terribly sorry to have to contradict you, Minerva, but as you will see from my note, Christina has been achieving very poor results in her classes with me —"

"I should have made my meaning plainer," said Professor McGonagall, turning at last to look Umbridge directly in the eyes. "She has achieved high marks in all Defense Against the Dark Arts tests set by a competent teacher." Christina thought she'd bit her tongue off in protest to saying anything. Professor Umbridge's smile vanished as suddenly as a lightbulb blowing. She sat back in her chair, turned a sheet on her clipboard, and began scribbling very fast indeed, her bulging eyes rolling from side to side. Professor McGonagall turned back to Christina, her thin nostrils flared, her eyes burning.

"Any questions, Bataskill?"

"Yes," said Christina quietly and politely. "What sort of character and aptitude tests do the Ministry do on you, if you get enough N.E.W.T.s?"

"Well, you'll need to demonstrate the ability to react well to pressure and so forth," said Professor McGonagall, "perseverance and dedication, because Auror training takes a further three years, not to mention very high skills in practical defense. It will mean a lot more study even after you've left school, so unless you're prepared to —"

"I think you'll also find," said Umbridge, her voice very cold now, "that the Ministry looks into the records of those applying to be Aurora. Their criminal records."

"— unless you're prepared to take even more exams after Hogwarts, you should really look at another —"

"— which means that this girl has as much chance of becoming an Auror as Dumbledore has of ever returning-" Christina had heard enough and with the secret throw of a rock, snapped one of the legs to Umbridge's chair. She fell down and McGonagall shot Christina a look but not one of malice, but of approval.

"A very good chance, then," said Professor McGonagall.

"Bataskill has a criminal record," said Umbridge loudly, slowly getting up from the stone floor.

"Bataskill has been cleared of all charges," said Professor McGonagall, even more loudly. Professor Umbridge stood up. She was so short that this did not make a great deal of difference, but her fussy, simpering demeanor had given place to a hard fury that made her broad, flabby face look oddly sinister.

"Bataskill has no chance whatsoever of becoming an Auror!" Professor McGonagall got to her feet too, and in her case this was a much more impressive move. She towered over Professor Umbridge.

"Bataskill," she said in ringing tones, "I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly I will make sure you achieve the required results!"

"The Minister of Magic will never employ Christina Bataskill!" said Umbridge, her voice rising furiously.

"There may well be a new Minister of Magic by the time Bataskill is ready to join!" shouted Professor McGonagall.

"Aha!" shrieked Professor Umbridge, pointing a stubby finger at McGonagall. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Of course! That's what you want, isn't it, Minerva McGonagall? You want Cornelius Fudge replaced by Albus Dumbledore! You think you'll be where I am, don't you, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and headmistress to boot!"

"You are raving," said Professor McGonagall, superbly disdainful. "Bataskill, that concludes our career consultation."

"Sounds good, thanks Professor McGonagall!" said Christina over her shoulder as Umbridge glared at her. Christina swung her bag over her shoulder and hurried out of the room, not daring to look at Umbridge. Christina could hear her and Professor McGonagall continuing to shout at each other all the way back along the corridor. Professor Umbridge was still breathing as though she had just run a race when she strode into their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that afternoon.

"I hope you've thought better of what you were planning to do, Christina," Hermione whispered, the moment they had opened their books to chapter thirty-four ("Non-Retaliation and Negotiation"). "Umbridge looks like she's in a really bad mood already. . . ." Every now and then Umbridge shot glowering looks at Christina, who kept her head down, staring at Defensive Magical Theory, her eyes unfocused, thinking. . . . She could just imagine Professor McGonagall's reaction if she were caught trespassing in Professor Umbridge's office mere hours after she had vouched for her. . . . There was nothing to stop her simply going back to Gryffindor Tower and hoping that sometime during the next summer holiday she would have a chance to ask Sirius about the scene she had witnessed in the Pensieve. . . . Nothing, except that the thought of taking this sensible course of action made her feel as though a lead weight had dropped into her stomach. . . . And then there was the matter of Fred and George, whose diversion was already planned, a goodbye gift to her. . . . But the fact remained that if she were caught . . .

"Dumbledore sacrificed himself to keep you in school, Christina!" whispered Hermione, raising her book to hide her face from Umbridge. "And if you get thrown out today it will all have been for nothing!" She could abandon the plan and simply learn to live with not knowing the truth . . . choose to be ignorant . . And then she remembered Snape . . . ."You truly are the dumbest student I've ever had . . ."

"Christina, don't do it, please don't do it!" Hermione said in anguished tones as the bell rang at the end of the class. She did not answer; she did not know what to do. Ron seemed determined to give neither his opinion nor his advice. He would not look at Christina, though when Hermione opened her mouth to try dissuading Christina some more, Ron said in a low voice, "Give it a rest, okay? She can make up her own mind." Harry seemed to be at a crossroads because while it was very dangerous to be messing around in Umbridge's office, Christina imagined he too would like to talk to Sirius. And just didn't have Fred and George to create a diversion.

Christina's heart beat very fast as she left the classroom. She was halfway along the corridor outside when she heard the unmistakable sounds of a diversion going off in the distance. There were screams and yells reverberating from somewhere above them. People exiting the classrooms all around Christina were stopping in their tracks and looking up at the ceiling fearfully — Then Umbridge came pelting out of her classroom as fast as her short legs would carry her. Pulling out her wand, she hurried off in the opposite direction: It was now or never.

"Christina — please!" said Hermione weakly. But she had made up her mind — hitching her bag more securely onto her shoulder she set off at a run, weaving in and out of students now hurrying in the opposite direction, off to see what all the fuss was about in the east wing. . . . Christina reached the corridor where Umbridge's office was situated and found it deserted. Dashing behind a large suit of armor whose helmet creaked around to watch her, she vanished in a blow of dust and swept herself under Umbridge's door.

The office was empty; nothing was moving except the horrible kittens on the plates continuing to frolic on the wall above the confiscated broomsticks. Christina went over to the fireplace, found what she was looking for within seconds: a small box containing glittering Floo powder. She crouched down in front of the empty grate, her hands shaking. She had never done this before, though she thought she knew how it must work. Sticking her head into the fireplace, she took a large pinch of powder and dropped it onto the logs stacked neatly beneath her. They exploded at once into emerald-green flames.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!" Christina said loudly and clearly. It was one of the most curious sensations she had ever experienced; she had traveled by Floo powder before, of course, but then it had been her entire body that had spun around and around in the flames through the network of Wizarding fireplaces that stretched over the country: This time, her knees remained firm upon the cold floor of Umbridge's office, and only her head hurtled through the emerald fire. . . . And then, abruptly as it had begun, the spinning stopped. Feeling rather sick and as though she was wearing an exceptionally hot muffler around her head, Christina opened her eyes to find that she was looking up out of the kitchen fireplace at the long, wooden table, where a man sat poring over a piece of parchment.

"Sirius?" The man jumped and looked around. It was not Sirius, but Lupin.

"Christina!" he said, looking thoroughly shocked. "What are you — what's happened, is everything all right?"

"Yeah," said Christina. "I - is Sirius there?"

"I'll call him," said Lupin, getting to his feet, still looking perplexed. "He went upstairs to look for Kreacher, he seems to be hiding in the attic again. . . ." And Christina saw Lupin hurry out of the kitchen. Now she was left with nothing to look at but the chair and table legs. She wondered why Sirius had never mentioned how very uncomfortable it was to speak out of the fire — her knees were already objecting painfully to their prolonged contact with Umbridge's hard stone floor. Lupin returned with Sirius at his heels moments later.

"What is it?" said Sirius urgently, sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes and dropping to the ground in front of the fire, so that he and Christina were on a level; Lupin knelt down too, looking very concerned. "Are you all right? Do you need help?"

"No," said Christina, "Look, I don't have much time, Sirius are you my dad? Are you? I'm not mad I just need to know are you my dad?"

"What? Christina what are you talking about? What's happened?" said Sirius although Lupin seemed to be giving him a dirty and confused look. Christina did not have time to feel awkward or embarrassed; her knees were becoming sorer by the second, and she guessed that five minutes had already passed from the start of the diversion — Fred had only guaranteed her twenty.

She therefore plunged immediately into the story of what she had seen in the Pensieve. When she had finished, neither Sirius nor Lupin spoke for a moment. Then Lupin said quietly, "I wouldn't like you to take what Professor Snape said at face value. Your mother and Sirius were close but that's because she and Lily were close and Lily and James started dating in their 7th year."

"Well then why do people always compare Sirius and I? Why would Snape say what he said?" Christina shot back, trying to understand.

"Christina, you can't be surprised that Snape doesn't particularly care for you. You frequently negate any rules he's set out and have stolen from his storage closet on numerous occasions" said Lupin, and he did have a fair point.

"But, he's never said anything like this before. Snape's called me stupid before, but only in front of others to make fun of me. It was like he was intent on making me suffer just as you and Harry's dad had." she said, mainly to Sirius. Silence followed but Christina was in an urgent situation, she needed to hear from Sirius that there was no truth to the rumor. She pressed him again, "Sirius? I saw you in the closet with my mum, tell me what happened" Sirius sighed and scooted closer to the fire.

"Now, you have to remember that your dad was a-"

"Sirius, I literally have minutes, just tell me." He bit his lip and Christina's stomach turned. Lupin seemed to be piecing the story together and turned to him, wide-eyed and frantic.

"Tell me you didn't!" Lupin said as if scolding a small child. Sirius was in a hole and him not talking was only making Christina angrier.

"SIRIUS!"

"I did! Yes, I did, but that doesn't prove anything! She was still very much with your father so who's to say-" Christina felt sick, Sirius Black? She was a member of the Black family? Christina found it hard to breath as Lupin berated him on.

"What is wrong with you! She was married! And what, it was nine months before Christina's birthday?"

"I'm not sure . . . it's not as though she told me exactly when she got pregnant."

"Sirius, everyone says I'm the spitting image of you! How could you not tell me?!" Christina's anger bubbled over into complete panic "My life is a lie . . my life is a lie. . ."

"Now Christina, you don't want to lose your temper-" Lupin started.

"Oh give me a _fucking_ break! You two deserve each other! You only care about me long enough to make sure I'm not dangerous" she said pointing a finger at Lupin, "-and you apparently only care as an uncle would! Because _apparently_ the father role didn't _suit_ you well enough!"

"Christina, no! That's it, I'm coming to you." said Sirius standing.

"Sit down!" said Lupin pulling his arm back down to the ground.

"Good, I hope you do come after me! And I hope you get sent straight to Azkaban and break out only to see HARRY FUCKING POTTER!" She fell silent. She could hear distant footsteps.

"Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?"

"What? No." said Sirius, glancing behind him. "It must be somebody your end . . ." Christina's heart skipped several beats.

"Glad I risked expulsion for this." she said nastily and she pulled her head backward out of Grimmauld Place's fire. For a moment her head seemed to be revolving on her shoulders, and then she found herself kneeling in front of Umbridge's fire with her head firmly back on, watching the emerald flames flicker and die.

"Quickly, quickly!" she heard a wheezy voice mutter right outside the office door. "Ah, she's left it open. . . ."

Christina reverted herself back to dust when Filch burst into the office. He looked absolutely delighted about something and was talking to himself feverishly as he crossed the room, pulled open a drawer in Umbridge's desk, and began rifling through the papers inside it. "Approval for Whipping . . . Approval for Whipping . . . I can do it at last. . . . They've had it coming to them for years. . . ." He pulled out a piece of parchment, kissed it, then shuffled rapidly back out of the door, clutching it to his chest. Christina swept herself under the door out of the office after Filch, who was hobbling along faster than Christina had ever seen him go. One landing down from Umbridge's office and Christina thought it was safe to become visible again; she reassembled herself and hurried onward. There was a great deal of shouting and movement coming from the entrance hall. She ran down the marble staircase and found what looked like most of the school assembled there. It was just like the night when Trelawney had been sacked. Students were standing all around the walls in a great ring (some of them, Christina noticed, covered in a substance that looked very like Stinksap); teachers and ghosts were also in the crowd. Prominent among the onlookers were members of the Inquisitorial Squad, who were all looking exceptionally pleased with themselves, and Peeves, who was bobbing overhead, gazed down upon Fred and George, who stood in the middle of the floor with the unmistakable look of two people who had just been cornered.

"So!" said Umbridge triumphantly, whom Christina realized was standing just a few stairs in front of her, once more looking down upon her prey. "So . . . you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?"

"There she is!" Fred bellowed from the center of the crowd pointing directly at Christina. All eyes were on her now and Christina tried to read Fred's face . . . does he need help? Am I supposed to be doing something?

" . . . T'is I!" she said not even convinced of the words as they flew from her mouth. George laughed and Fred smiled, still presenting her with one hand. Umbridge was positively livid. Fred's hand then changed from presenting Christina to asking for her hand.

"Christina Bataskill, will you marry me!" Fred said, in a softer yell. Had Christina been drinking pumpkin juice, she surely would have spit it on every head in front of her.

"WHAT!" she shouted back. Fred then placed his hands over his mouth to amplify his voice.

"WILL YOU" he pointed again to Christina, "MARRY-"

"I HEARD YOU, are you serious?!" Fred then got down on one knee to the awws and gasps of nearly every girl in the area, except one.

"ENOUGH OF THIS! Filch, the form please!" Umbridge shouted and Filch bumbled over with the form Christina watched him take from her office.

"Quickly before we get killed! Will you marry me?" Fred had done this once before at the Yule Ball, where he proposed to her with a promise ring and she didn't want to look stupid for saying yes to a fake question.

"Is this a joke?" Fred laughed.

"No, Christina, this is real, this is really real, you better hurry up before they whip us!" Fred said pointing to Filch who had whips in his coat pocket. Christina's heart was racing, all eyes were on her, she opened her mouth to speak but produced only syllables.

"I . . er- Yes!"

"WHAT?" Fred placed a hand to his ear.

"YES!"

"You mean it?"

"YES FRED!"

"Don't just say it because we're about to be beaten-"

"YES FRED I MEAN IT! I WILL MARRY YOU!" she said throwing her fists down to her sides. One student yelled out a cheer and the whole room burst out into applause. Meanwhile Umbridge and Filch were moving through the crowd to Fred and George.

"Your ring is on our bed!" Fred shouted back to Christina while backing away from Umbridge and Filch. Christina thought 'our bed' ? Oh, the shrieking shack . . . Christina looked down at the scene and Umbridge had stopped just feet from the twins.

"You two," Umbridge, gazing down at Fred and George, "are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."

"You know what?" said Fred. "I don't think we are." He turned to his twin.

"George," said Fred, "I think we've outgrown full-time education."

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," said George lightly.

"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?" asked Fred.

"Definitely," said George. And before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wands and said together, "Accio Brooms!" Christina heard a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Looking to her left she ducked just in time — Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor toward their owners. They turned left, streaked down the stairs, and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.

"We won't be seeing you," Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," said George, mounting his own. Fred looked around at the assembled students, and at the silent, watchful crowd.

"If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley — Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," he said in a loud voice. "Our new premises!"

"Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," added George, pointing at Professor Umbridge.

"STOP THEM!" shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd.

"Give her hell from us, Peeves."

And Peeves, whom Christina had never seen take an order from a student before, swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute as Fred and George wheeled about to tumultuous applause from the students below and sped out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset.


	30. Chapter 30: Deep In

And just like that, they were gone.

If there hadn't been such a large mass of buzzing people around Christina she would have taken the moment to watch their dark dots in the sky fade away but she rushed away, ducking away from screams from Umbridge and questions from nearby girls. The second Christina was alone she dissipated into dust and flew through the castle's stone walls and out onto the field.

 _Our bed._ Christina still couldn't believe he referred to the Shreiking Shack as their home and the one bed there as theirs. She put herself back together at the bottom of the mossy steps and heard a commotion upstairs . . . surely Fred couldn't have gotten back already?

"Damnit!"

"Fred?" Christina called out. She rushed up the stairs to see Fred Weasley, soaking wet, slapping his robe at curtains that were now completely engulfed in flames. "Jesus!" she cried out, and Fred turned, exhausted and smiling.

"You made it!" he said cheerfully, and kept slapping the fire. Christina pulled out her wand, "Augamenti!" and like a spout, the tip of her wand spewed out water and put out the fire. Fred put his hands on his hips and tried to catch his breath, letting the robe fall to the floor in a splat. While gasping, he put pointed to the wet candles on the floor and on the window ledge and shook his head. Christina smiled and laughed and then jumped on him, straddling his waist. Kissing every inch of his sopping wet face, they fell onto the bed which had strewn wet rose petals over it.

"Oh!, And this-" Fred took out a ring box from his pocket, "Is for you. The Mrs. Hey I can say that soon!" He handed her a black velvet box. "Will you marry me Christina Bataskill?" She opened the box to a gorgeous diamond, one she recognized almost immediately.

"It's one of yours" Fred said, Christina remembered making it in her fourth year during the Tri/Pent-Wizard cup. "I figured, no one could make a diamond better than you so-"

"I love it. I love you." said Christina. She placed the ring on her left ring-finger and kissed him passionately. The consummated the engagement almost immediately. But after, the nagging reminder of the conversation with Sirius was ringing in the back of her head. She decided to tell Fred.

"... so yeah. Sirius is probably my dad." she finished with a sigh.

"He can give you away at the wedding!" Fred said back ecstatically. Christina was perplexed at the response, so immediate and cavalier.

"Oh...well, yeah I guess...didn't really think about that..." Christina muttered. She half-laughed to herself, only Fred could make something she considered so monumentally world changing seem so small, and so light. He was seriously the light that guided her home...cornily enough.

The story of Fred and George's flight to freedom was retold so often over the next few days that Christina could tell it would soon become the stuff of Hogwarts legend. Within a week, even those who had been eyewitnesses were half-convinced that they had seen the twins dive-bomb Umbridge on their brooms, pelting her with Dungbombs before zooming out of the doors. In the immediate aftermath of their departure there was a great wave of talk about copying them, so that Christina frequently heard students saying things like, "Honestly, some days I just feel like jumping on my broom and leaving this place," or else, "One more lesson like that and I might just do a Weasley. . . ."

Fred and George had made sure that nobody was likely to forget them very soon. For one thing, they had not left instructions on how to remove the swamp that now filled the corridor on the fifth floor of the east wing. Umbridge and Filch had been observed trying different means of removing it but without success. Eventually the area was roped off and Filch, gnashing his teeth furiously, was given the task of punting students across it to their classrooms. Christina was certain that teachers like McGonagall or Flitwick could have removed the swamp in an instant, but just as in the case of Fred and George's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, they seemed to prefer to watch Umbridge struggle. Then there were the two large broom-shaped holes in Umbridge's office door, through which Fred and George's Cleansweeps had smashed to rejoin their masters. Filch fitted a new door and removed Christina and Harry's brooms to the dungeons where, it was rumored, Umbridge had set an armed security troll to guard it. However, her troubles were far from over. Inspired by Fred and George's example, a great number of students were now vying for the newly vacant positions of Troublemakers-in-Chief. In spite of the new door, somebody managed to slip a hairy-snouted niffler into Umbridge's office, which promptly tore the place apart in its search for shiny objects, leapt on Umbridge on her reentrance, and tried to gnaw the rings off her stubby fingers. Dungbombs and Stinkpellets were dropped so frequently in the corridors that it became the new fashion for students to perform Bubble-Head Charms on themselves before leaving lessons, which ensured them a supply of fresh clean air, even though it gave them all the peculiar appearance of wearing upside-down goldfish bowls on their heads. Filch prowled the corridors with a horsewhip ready in his hands, desperate to catch miscreants, but the problem was that there were now so many of them that he did not know which way to turn. The Inquisitorial Squad were attempting to help him, but odd things kept happening to its members. Warrington of the Slytherin Quidditch team reported to the hospital wing with a horrible skin complaint that made him look as though he had been coated in cornflakes. Pansy Parkinson, to Hermione's delight, missed all her lessons the following day, as she had sprouted antlers. Meanwhile it became clear just how many Skiving Snackboxes Fred and George had managed to sell before leaving Hogwarts. Umbridge only had to enter her classroom for the students assembled there to faint, vomit, develop dangerous fevers, or else spout blood from both nostrils. Shrieking with rage and frustration she attempted to trace the mysterious symptoms to their source, but the students told her stubbornly they were suffering "Umbridge-itis." After putting four successive classes in detention and failing to discover their secret she was forced to give up and allow the bleeding, swooning, sweating, and vomiting students to leave her classes in droves.

But not even the users of the Snackboxes could compete with that master of chaos, Peeves, who seemed to have taken Fred's parting words deeply to heart. Cackling madly, he soared through the school, upending tables, bursting out of blackboards, and toppling statues and vases. Twice he shut Mrs. Norris inside suits of armor, from which she was rescued, yowling loudly, by the furious caretaker. He smashed lanterns and snuffed out candles, juggled burning torches over the heads of screaming students, caused neatly stacked piles of parchment to topple into fires or out of windows, flooded the second floor when he pulled off all the taps in the bathrooms, dropped a bag of tarantulas in the middle of the Great Hall during breakfast and, whenever he fancied a break, spent hours at a time floating along after Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke. None of the staff but Filch seemed to be stirring themselves to help her. Indeed, a week after Fred and George's departure Christina witnessed Professor McGonagall walking right past Peeves, who was determinedly loosening a crystal chandelier, and could have sworn he heard her tell the poltergeist out of the corner of her mouth, "It unscrews the other way."

In the commotion of all the twins mayhem To cap matters, Montague had still not recovered from his sojourn in the toilet. He remained confused and disorientated and his parents were to be observed one Tuesday morning striding up the front drive, looking extremely angry.

"Should we say something?" said Hermione in a worried voice, pressing her cheek against the Charms window so that she could see Mr. and Mrs. Montague marching inside. "About what happened to him? In case it helps Madam Pomfrey cure him?"

" 'Course not, he'll recover," said Ron indifferently.

"Anyway, more trouble for Umbridge, isn't it?" said Christina in a satisfied voice. She and Ron both tapped the teacups they were supposed to be charming with their wands. Christina's had grown four long legs and she watched it run around the desk while Harry's spouted four very short legs that would not reach the desk and wriggled pointlessly in midair. Ron's grew four very thin spindly legs that hoisted the cup off the desk with great difficulty, trembled for a few seconds, then folded, causing the cup to crack into two.

"Reparo!" said Hermione quickly, mending Ron's cup with a wave of her wand. "That's all very well, but what if Montague's permanently injured?"

"Who cares?" said Ron irritably, while his teacup stood drunkenly again, trembling violently at the knees. "Montague shouldn't have tried to take all those points from Gryffindor, should he? If you want to worry about anyone, Hermione, worry about me!"

"You?" she said, catching her teacup as it scampered happily away across the desk on four sturdy little willow-patterned legs and replacing it in front of her. "Why should I be worried about you?"

"When Mum's next letter finally gets through Umbridge's screening process," said Ron bitterly, now holding his cup up while its frail legs tried feebly to support its weight, "I'm going to be in deep trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if she's sent a Howler again."

"But —"

"It'll be my fault Fred and George left, you wait," said Ron darkly. "She'll say I should've stopped them leaving, I should've grabbed the ends of their brooms and hung on or something. . . . Yeah, it'll be all my fault. . . ."

"Well, if she does say that it'll be very unfair, you couldn't have done anything! But I'm sure she won't, I mean, if it's really true they've got premises in Diagon Alley now, they must have been planning this for ages. . . ."

"Yeah, but that's another thing, how did they get premises?" said Ron, hitting his teacup so hard with his wand that its legs collapsed again and it lay twitching before him. "It's a bit dodgy, isn't it? They'll need loads of Galleons to afford the rent on a place in Diagon Alley, she'll want to know what they've been up to, to get their hands on that sort of gold. . . ."

"Well, yes, that occurred to me too," said Hermione, allowing her teacup to jog in neat little circles around Harry's, whose stubby little legs were still unable to touch the desktop. Christina looked over at Harry, who was the only one other than the twins and Lee Jordan who knew about the gold from the Tri-Wizard cup…

"I've been wondering whether Mundungus has persuaded them to sell stolen goods or something awful. . . ."

"He hasn't," said Harry curtly.

"How do you know?" said Ron and Hermione together.

"Because —" Christina hesitated, but the moment to confess finally seemed to have come. There was no good to be gained in keeping silent if it meant anyone suspected that Fred and George were criminals. "Because they got the gold from me. I gave them my Triwizard winnings last June." There was a shocked silence, then Hermione's teacup jogged right over the edge of the desk and smashed on the floor.

"Oh, Christina, you didn't!" she said.

"Yes, I did," said Christina mutinously. "And I don't regret it either — I didn't need the gold, and they'll be great at a joke shop. . . ."

"But this is excellent!" said Ron, looking thrilled. "It's all your fault, Christina — Mum can't blame me at all! Can I tell her?"

"Yeah, I suppose you'd better," said Christina dully. " 'Specially if she thinks they're receiving stolen cauldrons or something. . . ." Hermione said nothing at all for the rest of the lesson, but Christina had a shrewd suspicion that her self-restraint was bound to crack before long. Sure enough, once they had left the castle for break and were standing around in the weak May sunshine, she fixed Christina with a beady eye and opened her mouth with a determined air. Christina interrupted her before she had even started.

"It's no good nagging me, it's done," she said firmly. "Fred and George have got the gold — spent a good bit of it too, by the sounds of it — and I can't get it back from them and I don't want to. So save your breath, Hermione."

"I wasn't going to say anything about Fred and George!" she said in an injured voice. Ron snorted disbelievingly and Hermione threw him a very dirty look.

"No, I wasn't!" she said angrily. "As a matter of fact, I was going to ask Christina when she's going to go back to Snape and ask for Occlumency lessons again!" Christina's heart sank. Once they had exhausted the subject of Fred and George's dramatic departure, which admittedly had taken many hours, Harry, Ron and Hermione had wanted to hear news of Sirius. As Christina had not confided in them the reason she had wanted to talk to Sirius in the first place, it had been hard to think of things to tell them. She had ended up saying to them that Sirius and Lupin wanted Christina to resume Occlumency lessons. She had been regretting this ever since; Hermione would not let the subject drop and kept reverting to it when Christina least expected it.

"You can't tell me you've stopped having funny dreams," Hermione said now, "because last night you were muttering in your sleep again. . . ." Christina threw her a furious look. "Something about just a bit farther.' "

Last night she had once again made the journey along the Department of Mysteries corridor. She had passed through the circular room, then the room full of clicking and dancing light, until she found herself again inside that cavernous room full of shelves on which were ranged dusty glass spheres. . . . She had hurried straight toward row number ninety-seven, turned left, and ran along it. . . . It had probably been then that she had spoken aloud. . . . Just a bit farther . . . for she could feel her conscious self struggling to wake . . . and before she had reached the end of the row, she had found herself lying in bed again, gazing up at the canopy of her four-poster.

"You are trying to block your mind, aren't you?" said Hermione, looking beadily at Christina. "You are keeping going with your Occlumency?"

"Of course I am," said Christina, trying to sound as though this question was insulting, but not quite meeting her eye. The truth was that he was so intensely curious about what was hidden in that room full of dusty orbs that she was quite keen for the dreams to continue. The problem was that with just under a month to go until the exams and every free moment devoted to studying, her mind seemed saturated with information when she went to bed so that she found it very difficult to get to sleep at all. When she did, her overwrought brain presented her most nights with stupid dreams about the exams. She also suspected that part of her mind — the part that often spoke in Hermione's voice — now felt guilty on the occasions it strayed down that corridor ending in the black door, and sought to wake her before he could reach journey's end.

"You know," said Ron, whose ears were still flaming red, "if Montague doesn't recover before Slytherin play Hufflepuff, we might be in with a chance of winning the Cup."

"Yeah, I s'pose so," said Christina, glad of a change of subject. "I mean, we've won one, lost one — if Slytherin lose to Hufflepuff next Saturday —"

"Yeah, that's right," said Harry, barely listening. Christina looked up; Cho Chang had just walked across the courtyard, determinedly not looking at them. The final match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, was to take place on the last weekend of May. Although Slytherin had been narrowly defeated by Hufflepuff in their last match, Gryffindor was not daring to hope for victory, due mainly (though of course nobody said it to him) to Ron's abysmal goalkeeping record. He, however, seemed to have found a new optimism. "I mean, I can't get any worse, can I?" he told Christina, Harry and Hermione grimly over breakfast on the morning of the match. "Nothing to lose now, is there?"

"You know," said Hermione, as she, Christina and Harry walked down to the pitch a little later in the midst of a very excitable crowd, "I think Ron might do better without Fred and George around. They never exactly gave him a lot of confidence. . . ." Luna Lovegood overtook them with what appeared to be a live eagle perched on top of her head.

"Oh gosh, I forgot!" said Hermione, watching the eagle flapping its wings as Luna walked serenely past a group of cackling and pointing Slytherins. "Cho will be playing, won't she?" Harry merely grunted. They found seats in the top-most row of the stands. It was a fine, clear day. Ron could not wish for better, and Christina found himself hoping against hope that Ron would not give the Slytherins cause for more rousing choruses of "Weasley Is Our King." Lee Jordan, who had been very dispirited since Fred and George had left and had not given him a similar parting gift to Christina's, was commentating as usual. As the teams zoomed out onto the pitches he named the players with something less than his usual gusto.

". . . Bradley . . . Davies . . . Chang, . . . And they're off!" said Lee. "And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinnet as well. . . . He's going straight for goal! He's going to shoot — and — and —" Lee swore very loudly. "And he's scored." Christina, Harry and Hermione groaned with the rest of the Gryffindors. Predictably, horribly, the Slytherins on the other side of the stands began to sing: Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring . . .

"Harry," said a hoarse voice. "Hermione, Christineh . . ." Christina looked around and saw Hagrid's enormous bearded face sticking between the seats; apparently he had squeezed his way all along the row behind, for the first and second years he had just passed had a ruffled, flattened look about them. For some reason, Hagrid was bent double as though anxious not to be seen, though he was still at least four feet taller than everybody else.

"Listen," he whispered, "can yeh come with me? Now? While ev'ryone's watchin' the match?"

"Er . . . can't it wait, Hagrid?" asked Harry. "Till the match is over?"

"No," said Hagrid. "No, Harry, it's gotta be now . . . while ev'ryone's lookin' the other way. . . . Please?" Hagrid's nose was gently dripping blood. His eyes were both blackened. Christina had not seen him this close up since his return to the school; he looked utterly woebegone.

" 'Course," said Harry at once, " 'course we'll come. . . ." She, Harry and Hermione edged back along their row of seats, causing much grumbling among the students who had to stand up for them. The people in Hagrid's row were not complaining, merely attempting to make themselves as small as possible.

"I 'ppreciate this, you lot, I really do," said Hagrid as they reached the stairs. He kept looking around nervously as they descended toward the lawn below. "I jus' hope she doesn' notice us goin'. . . ."

"You mean Umbridge?" said Harry. "She won't, she's got her whole Inquisitorial Squad sitting with her, didn't you see? She must be expecting trouble at the match."

"Yeah, well, a bit o' trouble wouldn' hurt," said Hagrid, pausing to peer around the edge of the stands to make sure the stretch of lawn between there and his cabin was deserted. "Give us more time . . ."

"What is it, Hagrid?" said Hermione, looking up at him with a concerned expression on her face as they hurried across the lawn toward the edge of the forest.

"Yeh — yeh'll see in a mo'," said Hagrid, looking over his shoulder as a great roar rose from the stands behind them. "Hey — did someone jus' score?"

"It'll be Ravenclaw," said Christina heavily.

"Good . . . good . . ." said Hagrid distractedly. "Tha's good. . . ." They had to jog to keep up with him as he strode across the lawn, looking around with every other step. When they reached his cabin, Hermione turned automatically left toward the front door; Hagrid, however, walked straight past it into the shade of the trees on the outermost edge of the forest, where he picked up a crossbow that was leaning against a tree. When he realized they were no longer with him, he turned.

"We're goin' in here," he said, jerking his shaggy head behind him.

"Into the forest?" said Hermione, perplexed.

"Yeah," said Hagrid. "C'mon now, quick, before we're spotted!" Christina, Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then ducked into the cover of the trees behind Hagrid, who was already striding away from them into the green gloom, his crossbow over his arm. Christina, Harry and Hermione ran to catch up with him.

"Hagrid, why are you armed?" said Harry.

"Jus' a precaution," said Hagrid, shrugging his massive shoulders.

"You didn't bring your crossbow the day you showed us the thestrals," said Christina timidly.

"Nah, well, we weren' goin' in so far then," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, tha' was before Firenze left the forest, wasn' it?"

"Why does Firenze leaving make a difference?" asked Hermione curiously.

" 'Cause the other centaurs are good an' riled at me, tha's why," said Hagrid quietly, glancing around. "They used ter be — well, yeh couldn' call 'em friendly — but we got on all righ'. Kept 'emselves to 'emselves, bu' always turned up if I wanted a word. Not anymore . . ." He sighed deeply.

"Firenze said that they're angry because he went to work for Dumbledore?" Harry asked, tripping on a protruding root because he was busy watching Hagrid's profile.

"Yeah," said Hagrid heavily. "Well, angry doesn' cover it. Ruddy livid. If I hadn' stepped in, I reckon they'd've kicked Firenze ter death —"

"They attacked him?" said Hermione, sounding shocked.

"Yep," said Hagrid gruffly, forcing his way through several lowhanging branches. "He had half the herd onto him —"

"And you stopped it?" said Christina, amazed and impressed. "By yourself?"

" 'Course I did, couldn't stand by an' watch 'em kill him, could I?" said Hagrid. "Lucky I was passin', really . . . an' I'd've thought Firenze mighta remembered tha' before he started sendin' me stupid warnin's!" he added hotly and unexpectedly. Christina, Harry and Hermione looked at each other, startled, but Hagrid, scowling, did not elaborate.

"Anyway," he said, breathing a little more heavily than usual, "since then the other centaurs've bin livid with me an' the trouble is, they've got a lot of influence in the forest. . . . Cleverest creatures in here . . ."

"Is that why we're here, Hagrid?" asked Hermione. "The centaurs?"

"Ah no," said Hagrid, shaking his head dismissively, "no, it's not them. . . . Well, o' course, they could complicate the problem, yeah. . . . But yeh'll see what I mean in a bit. . . ." On this incomprehensible note he fell silent and forged a little ahead, taking one stride for every three of theirs, so that they had great trouble keeping up with him. The path was becoming increasingly overgrown and the trees grew so closely together as they walked farther and farther into the forest that it was as dark as dusk. They were soon a long way past the clearing where Hagrid had shown them the thestrals, but Christina felt no sense of unease until Hagrid stepped unexpectedly off the path and began wending his way in and out of trees toward the dark heart of the forest.

"Hagrid?" said Christina, fighting her way through thickly knotted brambles over which Hagrid had stepped easily. "Where are we going?"

"Bit further," said Hagrid over his shoulder. "C'mon, Christineh. . . . We need ter keep together now. . . ." It was a great struggle to keep up with Hagrid, what with branches and thickets of thorn through which Hagrid marched as easily as though they were cobwebs, but which snagged Christina, Harry and Hermione's robes, frequently entangling them so severely that they had to stop for minutes at a time to free themselves. Christina's arms and legs were soon covered in small cuts and scratches. They were so deep in the forest now that sometimes all Christina could see of Hagrid in the gloom was a massive dark shape ahead of him. Any sound seemed threatening in the muffled silence. The breaking of a twig echoed loudly and the tiniest rustle of movement, though it might have been made by an innocent sparrow, caused Christina to peer through the gloom for a culprit. It occurred to her that she had never managed to get this far into the forest without meeting some kind of creature — their absence struck her as rather ominous.

"Hagrid, would it be all right if we lit our wands?" said Hermione quietly.

"Er . . . all righ'," Hagrid whispered back. "In fact . . ." He stopped suddenly and turned around; Hermione walked right into him and was knocked over backward. Harry caught her just before she hit the forest floor. "Maybe we bes' jus' stop fer a momen', so I can . . . fill yeh in," said Hagrid. "Before we ge' there, like."

"Good!" said Hermione, as Harry set her back on her feet. They all murmured "Lumos!" and their wand tips ignited. Hagrid's face swam through the gloom by the light of the three wavering beams and Christina saw that he looked nervous and sad again.

"Righ," said Hagrid. "Well . . . see . . . the thing is . . ." He took a great breath. "Well, there's a good chance I'm goin' ter be gettin' the sack any day now," he said. Christina, Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then back at him.

"But you've lasted this long —" Hermione said tentatively. "What makes you think —"

"Umbridge reckons it was me that put tha' niffler in her office."

"And was it?" said Harry, rudely.

"No, it ruddy well wasn'!" said Hagrid indignantly. "On'y anythin' ter do with magical creatures an' she thinks it's got somethin' ter do with me. Yeh know she's bin lookin' fer a chance ter get rid of me ever since I got back. I don' wan' ter go, o' course, but if it wasn' fer . . . well . . . the special circumstances I'm abou' ter explain to yeh, I'd leave righ now, before she's go' the chance ter do it in front o' the whole school, like she did with Trelawney." Christina, Harry and Hermione both made noises of protest, but Hagrid overrode them with a wave of one of his enormous hands. "It's not the end o' the world, I'll be able ter help Dumbledore once I'm outta here, I can be useful ter the Order. An' you lot'll have Grubbly-Plank, yeh'll — yeh'll get through yer exams fine. . . ." His voice trembled and broke.

"Don' worry abou' me," he said hastily, as Hermione made to pat his arm. He pulled his enormous spotted handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and mopped his eyes with it. "Look, I wouldn' be tellin' yer this at all if I didn' have ter. See, if I go . . . well, I can' leave withou' . . . withou' tellin' someone . . . because I'll — I'll need you three ter help me. An' Ron, if he's willin'."

"Of course we'll help you," said Harry at once. "What do you want us to do?" Hagrid gave a great sniff and patted Harry wordlessly on the shoulder with such force that Harry was knocked sideways and Christina stopped him midair before he could smash into a nearby tree. The use of her powers had caused everyone to go silent. She let Harry down and he smoothed his jeans out.

"Thanks." said Harry quietly. Christina gave him a half-smile.

"Well . . . c'mon . . . jus' a little bit further through here . . . Watch yerselves, now, there's nettles. . . ." They walked on in silence for another fifteen minutes. Harry had opened his mouth to ask how much farther they had to go when Hagrid threw out his right arm to signal that they should stop.

"Really easy," he said softly. "Very quiet, now . . ." They crept forward and Christina saw that they were facing a large, smooth mound of earth nearly as tall as Hagrid that she thought, with a jolt of dread, was sure to be the lair of some enormous animal. Trees had been ripped up at the roots all around the mound, so that it stood on a bare patch of ground surrounded by heaps of trunks and boughs that formed a kind of fence or barricade, behind which Christina, Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid now stood.

"Sleepin'," breathed Hagrid. Sure enough, Christina could hear a distant, rhythmic rumbling that sounded like a pair of enormous lungs at work. He glanced sideways at Hermione, who was gazing at the mound with her mouth slightly open. She looked utterly terrified.

"Hagrid," she said in a whisper barely audible over the sound of the sleeping creature, "who is he?" Christina found this an odd question. . . . "What is it?" was the one she had been planning on asking. "Hagrid, you told us," said Hermione, her wand now shaking in her hand, "you told us none of them wanted to come!" Christina looked from her to Harry to Hagrid and then, as realization hit her, she looked back at the mound with a small gasp of horror. The great mound of earth, on which she, Harry Hermione, and Hagrid could easily have stood, was moving slowly up and down in time with the deep, grunting breathing. It was not a mound at all. It was the curved back of what was clearly . . .

"Well — no — he didn' want ter come," said Hagrid, sounding desperate. "But I had ter bring him, Hermione, I had ter!"

"But why?" asked Hermione, who sounded as though she wanted to cry. "Why — what — oh, Hagrid!"

"I knew if I jus' got him back," said Hagrid, sounding close to tears himself, "an' — an' taught him a few manners — I'd be able ter take him outside an' show ev'ryone he's harmless!"

"Harmless!" said Hermione shrilly, and Hagrid made frantic hushing noises with his hands as the enormous creature before them grunted loudly and shifted in its sleep. "He's been hurting you all this time, hasn't he? That's why you've had all these injuries!"

"He don' know his own strength!" said Hagrid earnestly. "An' he's gettin' better, he's not fightin' so much anymore —"

"So this is why it took you two months to get home!" said Hermione distractedly. "Oh Hagrid, why did you bring him back if he didn't want to come, wouldn't he have been happier with his own people?"

"They were all bullyin' him, Hermione, 'cause he's so small!" said Hagrid.

"Small?" said Hermione. "Small?"

"Hermione, I couldn' leave him," said Hagrid, tears now trickling down his bruised face into his beard. "See — he's my brother!" Hermione simply stared at him, her mouth open.

"Hagrid, when you say 'brother,' " said Harry slowly, "do you mean — ?"

"Well — half-brother," amended Hagrid. "Turns out me mother took up with another giant when she left me dad, an' she went an' had Grawp here —"

"Grawp?" said Christina.

"Yeah . . . well, tha's what it sounds like when he says his name," said Hagrid anxiously. "He don' speak a lot of English. . . . I've bin tryin' ter teach him. . . . Anyway, she don' seem ter have liked him much more'n she liked me. . . . See, with giantesses, what counts is producin' good big kids, and he's always been a bit on the runty side fer a giant — on'y sixteen foot —"

"Oh yes, tiny!" said Hermione, with a kind of hysterical sarcasm. "Absolutely minuscule!"

"He was bein' kicked around by all o' them — I jus' couldn' leave him —"

"Did Madame Maxime want to bring him back?" asked Harry.

"She — well, she could see it was right importan' ter me," said Hagrid, twisting his enormous hands. "Bu' — bu' she got a bit tired of him after a while, I must admit . . . so we split up on the journey home. . . . She promised not ter tell anyone though. . . ."

"How on earth did you get him back without anyone noticing?" said Christina.

"Well, tha's why it took so long, see," said Hagrid. "Could on'y travel by nigh an' through wild country an' stuff. 'Course, he covers the ground pretty well when he wants ter, but he kep' wantin' ter go back. . . ."

"Oh Hagrid, why on earth didn't you let him!" said Hermione, flopping down onto a ripped-up tree and burying her face in her hands. "What do you think you're going to do with a violent giant who doesn't even want to be here!"

"Well, now — 'violent' — tha's a bit harsh," said Hagrid, still twisting his hands agitatedly. "I'll admit he mighta taken a couple o' swings at me when he's bin in a bad mood, but he's gettin' better, loads better, settlin' down well. . . ."

"What are those ropes for, then?" Harry asked. Christina had now just noticed ropes thick as saplings stretching from around the trunks of the largest nearby trees toward the place where Grawp lay curled on the ground with his back to them.

"You have to keep him tied up?" said Hermione faintly.

"Well . . . yeah . . ." said Hagrid, looking anxious. "See — it's like I say — he doesn' really know his strength —" Christina understood now why there had been such a suspicious lack of any other living creature in this part of the forest.

"So what is it you want Harry, Christina and Ron and me to do?" Hermione asked apprehensively.

"Look after him," said Hagrid croakily. "After I'm gone." Christina, Harry and Hermione exchanged miserable looks, Christina uncomfortably aware that Harry had already promised Hagrid that they would do whatever he asked.

"What — what does that involve, exactly?" Hermione inquired.

"Not food or anythin'!" said Hagrid eagerly. "He can get his own food, no problem. Birds an' deer an' stuff . . . No, it's company he needs. If I jus' knew someone was carryin' on tryin' ter help him a bit . . . teachin' him, yeh know . . ." Christina said nothing, but turned to look back at the gigantic form lying asleep on the ground In front of them. Grawp had his back to them. Unlike Hagrid, who simply looked like a very oversize human, Grawp looked strangely misshapen. What Christina had taken to be a vast mossy boulder to the left of the great earthen mound she now recognized as Grawp's head. It was much larger in proportion to the body than a human head, almost perfectly round and covered with tightly curling, close-growing hair the color of bracken. The rim of a single large, fleshy ear was visible on top of the head, which seemed to sit directly upon the shoulders with little or no neck in between. The back, under what looked like a dirty brownish smock comprised of animal skins sewn roughly together, was very broad, and as Grawp slept, it seemed to strain a little at the rough seams of the skins. The legs were curled up under the body; Christina could see the soles of enormous, filthy, bare feet, large as sledges, resting one on top of the other on the earthy forest floor.

"You want us to teach him," Harry said in a hollow voice. Christina now understood what Firenze's warning had meant. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it. Of course, the other creatures who lived in the forest would have heard Hagrid's fruitless attempts to teach Grawp English. . . .

"Yeah — even if yeh jus' talk ter him a bit," said Hagrid hopefully. " 'Cause I reckon, if he can talk ter people, he'll understand more that we all like him really, an' want him to stay. . . ." Christina and Harry looked over at Hermione, who peered back at them from between the fingers over her face.

"Kind of makes you wish we had Norbert back, doesn't it?" Harry said and she gave a very shaky laugh.

"Yeh'll do it, then?" said Hagrid, who did not seem to have caught what Harry had just said.

"We'll . . ." said Harry, already bound by his promise. "We'll try, Hagrid. . . ."

"I knew I could count on yeh, Harry," Hagrid said, beaming in a very watery way and dabbing at his face with his handkerchief again. "An' I don' wan' yeh ter put yerself out too much, like. . . . I know yeh've got exams. . . . If yeh could jus' nip down here in yer Invisibility Cloak maybe once a week an' have a little chat with him . . . I'll wake him up, then — introduce you —"

"Wha — no!" said Hermione, jumping up, "Hagrid, no, don't wake him, really, we don't need —" But Hagrid had already stepped over the great trunk in front of them and was proceeding toward Grawp. When he was around ten feet away, he lifted a long, broken bough from the ground, smiled reassuringly over his shoulder at Christina, Harry and Hermione, and then poked Grawp hard in the middle of the back with the end of the bough. The giant gave a roar that echoed around the silent forest. Birds in the treetops overhead rose twittering from their perches and soared away. In front of Christina, Harry and Hermione, meanwhile, the gigantic Grawp was rising from the ground, which shuddered as he placed an enormous hand upon it to push himself onto his knees and turned his head to see who and what had disturbed him.

"All righ', Grawpy?" said Hagrid in a would-be cheery voice, backing away with the long bough raised, ready to poke Grawp again. "Had a nice sleep, eh?" Christina, Harry and Hermione retreated as far as they could while still keeping the giant within their sights. Grawp knelt between two trees he had not yet uprooted. They looked up into his startlingly huge face, which resembled a gray full moon swimming in the gloom of the clearing. It was as though the features had been hewn onto a great stone ball. The nose was stubby and shapeless, the mouth lopsided and full of misshapen yellow teeth the size of half-bricks. The small eyes were a muddy greenish-brown and just now were half gummed together with sleep. Grawp raised dirty knuckles as big as cricket balls to his eyes, rubbed vigorously, then, without warning, pushed himself to his feet with surprising speed and agility.

"Oh my . . ." Christina heard Hermione squeal, terrified, behind her. The trees to which the other ends of the ropes around Grawp's wrists and ankles were attached creaked ominously. He was, as Hagrid had said, at least sixteen feet tall. Gazing blearily around, he reached out a hand the size of a beach umbrella, seized a bird's nest from the upper branches of a towering pine and turned it upside down with a roar of apparent displeasure that there was no bird in it — eggs fell like grenades toward the ground and Hagrid threw his arms over his head to protect himself.

"Anyway, Grawpy," shouted Hagrid, looking up apprehensively in case of further falling eggs, "I've brought some friends ter meet yeh. Remember, I told yeh I might? Remember, when I said I might have ter go on a little trip an' leave them ter look after yeh fer a bit? Remember that, Grawpy?" But Grawp merely gave another low roar; it was hard to say whether he was listening to Hagrid or whether he even recognized the sounds Hagrid was making as speech. He had now seized the top of the pine tree and was pulling it toward him, evidently for the simple pleasure of seeing how far it would spring back when he let go.

"Now, Grawpy, don' do that!" shouted Hagrid. "Tha's how you ended up pullin' up the others —" And sure enough, Christina could see the earth around the tree's roots beginning to crack. "I got company fer yeh!" Hagrid shouted. "Company, see! Look down, yeh big buffoon, I brought yeh some friends!"

"Oh Hagrid, don't," moaned Hermione, but Hagrid had already raised the bough again and gave Grawp's knee a sharp poke. The giant let go of the top of the pine tree, which swayed menacingly and deluged Hagrid with a rain of needles, and looked down.

"This," said Hagrid, hastening over to where Christina, Harry and Hermione stood, "is Harry, Grawp! Harry Potter! He migh' be comin' ter visit yeh if I have ter go away, understand?" The giant had only just realized that Christina, Harry and Hermione were there. They watched, in great trepidation, as he lowered his huge boulder of a head so that he could peer blearily at them.

"An' this is Hermione, see? Her —" Hagrid hesitated. Turning to Hermione he said, "Would yeh mind if he called yeh Hermy, Hermione? On'y it's a difficult name fer him ter remember. . .

"No, not at all," squeaked Hermione. "This is Hermy, Grawp! An' she's gonna be comin' an' all! And that's-" Hagrid paused, "That's Tineh! Is'n tha' nice? Eh? Three friends fer yeh ter — GRAWPY, NO!" Grawp's hand had shot out of nowhere toward Christina and she lifted a stone wall from the ground to cover her from him. Grawp's hand punched through the rock wall and Hagrid jumped forward.

"BAD BOY, GRAWPY!" Christina heard Hagrid yelling, as she clung to Harry behind the tree, out of breath. "VERY BAD BOY! YEH DON' GRAB — OUCH!" Christina poked her head out from around the trunk and saw Hagrid lying on his back, his hand over his nose. Grawp, apparently losing interest, had straightened up again and was again engaged in pulling back the pine as far as it would go.

"Righ'," said Hagrid thickly, getting up with one hand pinching his bleeding nose and the other grasping his crossbow. "Well . . . there yeh are. . . . Yeh've met him an' — an' now he'll know yeh when yeh come back. Yeah . . . well . . ." He looked up at Grawp, who was now pulling back the pine with an expression of detached pleasure on his boulderish face; the roots were creaking as he ripped them away from the ground. . . .

"Well, I reckon tha's enough fer one day," said Hagrid. "We'll — er — we'll go back now, shall we?" Christina, Harry and Hermione nodded. Hagrid shouldered his crossbow again and, still pinching his nose, led the way back into the trees. Nobody spoke for a while, not even when they heard the distant crash that meant Grawp had pulled over the pine tree at last. Hermione's face was pale and set and Harry kept turning back every few feet to keep an eye on Grawp. Christina could not think of a single thing to say. What on earth was going to happen when somebody found out that Hagrid had hidden Grawp in the forest? And Harry had promised that she, Harry, Ron, and Hermione would continue Hagrid's totally pointless attempts to civilize the giant. . . . How could Hagrid, even with his immense capacity to delude himself that fanged monsters were lovably harmless, fool himself that Grawp would ever be fit to mix with humans?

"Hold it," said Hagrid abruptly, just as Christina, Harry and Hermione were struggling through a patch of thick knotgrass behind him. He pulled an arrow out of the quiver over his shoulder and fitted it into the crossbow. Christina, Harry and Hermione raised their wands; now that they had stopped walking, they too could hear movement close by.

"Oh blimey," said Hagrid quietly.

"I thought that we told you, Hagrid," said a deep male voice, "that you are no longer welcome here?" A man's naked torso seemed for an instant to be floating toward them through the dappled green half-light. Then they saw that his waist joined smoothly with a horse's chestnut body. This centaur had a proud, high-cheekboned face and long black hair. Like Hagrid, he was armed: A quiverful of arrows and a long bow were slung over his shoulders.

"How are yeh, Magorian?" said Hagrid warily. The trees behind the centaur rustled and four or five more emerged behind him.

"So," he said, with a nasty inflection in his voice, before turning immediately to Magorian. "We agreed, I think, what we would do if this human showed his face in the forest again?"

" 'This human' now, am I?" said Hagrid testily. "Jus' fer stoppin' all of yeh committin' murder?"

"You ought not to have meddled, Hagrid," said Magorian. "Our ways are not yours, nor are our laws. Firenze has betrayed and dishonored us."

"I dunno how yeh work that out," said Hagrid impatiently. "He's done nothin' except help Albus Dumbledore —"

"Firenze has entered into servitude to humans," said a gray centaur with a hard, deeply lined face.

"Servitude!" said Hagrid scathingly. "He's doin' Dumbledore a favor is all —"

"He is peddling our knowledge and secrets among humans," said Magorian quietly. "There can be no return from such disgrace."

"If yeh say so," said Hagrid, shrugging, "but personally I think yeh're makin' a big mistake —"

"As are you, human," said Bane, "coming back into our forest when we warned you —"

"Now, you listen ter me," said Hagrid angrily. "I'll have less of the 'our' forest, if it's all the same ter you. It's not up ter you who comes an' goes in here —"

"No more is it up to you, Hagrid," said Magorian smoothly. "I shall let you pass today because you are accompanied by your young —"

"They're not his!" interrupted Bane contemptuously. "Students, Magorian, from up at the school! They have probably already profited from the traitor Firenze's teachings. . . ."

"Nevertheless," said Magorian calmly, "the slaughter of foals is a terrible crime. . . . We do not touch the innocent. Today, Hagrid, you pass. Henceforth, stay away from this place. You forfeited the friendship of the centaurs when you helped the traitor Firenze escape us."

"I won' be kept outta the fores' by a bunch of mules like you!" said Hagrid loudly.

"Hagrid," said Hermione in a high-pitched and terrified voice, as both Bane and the gray centaur pawed at the ground, "let's go, please lets go!" Hagrid moved forward, but his crossbow was still raised and his eyes were still fixed threateningly upon Magorian.

"We know what you are keeping in the forest, Hagrid!" Magorian called after them, as the centaurs slipped out of sight. "And our tolerance is waning!" Hagrid turned and gave every appearance of wanting to walk straight back to Magorian again.

"You'll tolerate him as long as he's here, it's as much his forest as yours!" he yelled, while Christina, Harry and Hermione both pushed with all their might against Hagrid's moleskin waistcoat in an effort to keep him moving forward. Still scowling, he looked down; his expression changed to mild surprise at the sight of them pushing him. He seemed not to have felt it.

"Calm down, you lot," he said, turning to walk on while they panted along behind him. "Ruddy old nags though, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Hermione breathlessly, skirting the patch of nettles they had passed on their way there, "if the centaurs don't want humans in the forest, it doesn't really look as though Harry, Christina and I will be able —"

"Ah, you heard what they said," said Hagrid dismissively "They wouldn't hurt foals — I mean, kids. Anyway, we can' let ourselves be pushed around by that lot. . . ."

"Nice try," Harry murmured to Hermione, who looked crestfallen. At last they rejoined the path and after another ten minutes, the trees began to thin. They were able to see patches of clear blue sky again and hear, in the distance, the definite sounds of cheering and shouting.

"Was that another goal?" asked Hagrid, pausing in the shelter of the trees as the Quidditch stadium came into view. "Or d'you reckon the match is over?"

"I don't know," said Hermione miserably. Christina saw that she looked much the worse for wear; her hair was full of bits of twig and leaves, her robes were ripped in several places and there were numerous scratches on her face and arms. Christina knew she could look little better.

"I reckon it's over, yeh know!" said Hagrid, still squinting toward the stadium. "Look — there's people comin' out already — if you three hurry yeh'll be able ter blend in with the crowd an' no one'll know you weren't there!"

"Good idea," said Harry. "Well . . . see you later, then, Hagrid. . . ."

"I don't believe him," said Hermione in a very unsteady voice, the moment they were out of earshot of Hagrid. "I don't believe him. I really don't believe him. . . ."

"Calm down," said Harry.

"Calm down!" she said feverishly. "A giant! A giant in the forest! And we're supposed to give him English lessons! Always assuming, of course, we can get past the herd of murderous centaurs on the way in and out! I — don't — believe — him!"

"We haven't got to do anything yet!" Christina tried to reassure her in a quiet voice, as they joined a stream of jabbering Hufflepuffs heading back toward the castle. "He's not asking us to do anything unless he gets chucked out and that might not even happen —"

"Oh come off it, Christina!" said Hermione angrily, stopping dead in her tracks so that the people behind her had to swerve to avoid her. "Of course he's going to be chucked out and to be perfectly honest, after what we've just seen, who can blame Umbridge?" There was a pause in which Christina stood mouth open, Harry glared at her, and her eyes filled slowly with tears.

"You didn't mean that," said Harry quietly.

"No . . . well . . . all right . . . I didn't," she said, wiping her eyes angrily. "But why does he have to make life so difficult for himself — for us?"

"I dunno —"

Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He didn't let the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King . . .

"I wish they'd stop singing that stupid song," said Christina miserably, "haven't they gloated enough?" A great tide of students was moving up the sloping lawns from the pitch.

"Oh, let's get in before we have to meet the Slytherins," said Hermione. Weasley can save anything, He never leaves a single ring That's why Gryffindors all sing: Weasley is our King. "Christina . . ." said Harry slowly. Harry pointed to his ears and Christina started listening to the song. The song was growing louder, but it was issuing not from a crowd of green-and-silver-clad Slytherins, but from a mass of red and gold moving slowly toward the castle, which was bearing a solitary figure upon its many shoulders. . . . Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He didn't let the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King . . .

"No!" said Hermione in a hushed voice.

"YES!" said Harry loudly.

"HARRY! HERMIONE! CHRISTINA!" yelled Ron, waving the silver Quidditch Cup in the air and looking quite beside himself. "WE DID IT! WE WON!" They beamed up at him as he passed; there was a scrum at the door of the castle and Ron's head got rather badly bumped on the lintel, but nobody seemed to want to put him down. Still singing, the crowd squeezed itself into the entrance hall and out of sight. Christina, Harry and Hermione watched them go, beaming, until the last echoing strains of "Weasley Is Our King" died away. Then they turned to each other, their smiles fading.

"We'll save our news till tomorrow, shall we?" said Harry.

"Yes, all right," said Hermione wearily. "I'm not in any hurry. . . ." They climbed the steps together. At the front doors they instinctively looked back at the Forbidden Forest. Christina was not sure whether it was her imagination or not, but she rather thought she saw a small cloud of birds erupting into the air over the treetops in the distance, it reminded Christina sadly of Buckbeak.

"Hey Harry? Can I talk to you for a second?" Christina asked. Hermione gave a confused look but Christina nodded her away.

"Yeah, sure. What is it?" he asked. They walked out back to the courtyard and sat down at one of the benches, Harry seemed to be getting worried.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah ... no ... I don't know. I got kicked out of Occlumency. . . cause I broke into Snape's pensieve and saw a childhood memory of his. I saw your dad and Sirius making fun of Snape, and Lupin and Wormtail just sitting there watching . . . that's not important, anyways, I saw Sirius and my mum snogging in a closet and when Snape grabbed me out of the pensieve he said 'You and Potter' meaning you, 'are two of a kind, Potter' meaning your dad 'was arrogant and so was Black' and I said that Sirius wasn't my dad so don't compare me to him and then he said 'you are the dumbest student I have ever had' . . . and it got me remembering all the times people compare me to Sirius and-" "Yeah, but that doesn't mean-"

"Well that's what I wanted to believe! So, I had to know for sure, so I went to talk to Sirius and Lupin was there too and well . . . basically, Sirius did have sex with my mum 9 months before I was born so . . . he's not positive but with the timing and me being well...me, I think Sirius is my dad." She paused to let Harry speak but no words came. He sat there, looking down onto the courtyard stone looking confused yet hard. Christina let the silence continue. She felt awful, she felt like Harry should know but also that she was making his relationship with Sirius less than what it was.

"You saw my dad?" said Harry, still not looking at her. She was taken aback by the question, how could that part of the story be important to him?

"Oh, er, yeah. He had just finished an O.W.L."

"What was he like?"

"He . . . very popular. He kept messing up his hair, played with a snitch to impress people . . . he looks just like you. I actually thought he was you at first." Another silence. Christina wasn't sure if Harry was processing the information or just letting it hit him in waves.

"What was your mum like?" asked Harry. Christina let out a small laugh. "She was like me actually, couldn't contain her laughs . . . same hair, same fight in her . . . Look, I don't know what this information about Sirius-"

"I knew Sirius was your dad." Harry said in a monotone voice. Christina shook her head, unable to believe what she just heard.

"Wh-what? How?"

"Well, I wasn't definite. He said something to me about him feeling guilty about you. We were talking about the hearing back in the summer and he said he felt responsible for you being 'reckless' enough to visit me." Harry said with air quotes around the word reckless.

"But if he knew . . . then why would he break out of Azkaban to see you?"

"He didn't come for either of us, he came for Peter Pettigrew, remember?" Harry said looking up to Christina. There was no trace of pain on his face.

"Oh, right . . . but he told you that you were his godson. Why not do the same with me?"

"I dunno . . . maybe he wanted you to have the illusion that you're mum never cheated on your dad." Christina hadn't thought of it like that, she only viewed the act as Sirius ruining a marriage not her mum breaking her wedding vows . . . "Why didn't you tell me he said this?" she asked, slightly hurt. "With the hearing and Umbridge . . . Voldemort, I just, er, didn't want to confuse you. Since I didn't know for sure." Christina sighed. She couldn't get mad at Harry but she was still trying to process everything. She looked down at her shoes and kicked a pebble away from her foot.

"If it's any consolation, Sirius is a good dad to have."

"Is he?" she said bitterly, thinking back on all his reckless behavior.

"In terms of which Order member I'd want to be revealed as my dad, Sirius is the best choice. Imagine if Moody was your dad." to this Christina laughed and felt a weight get lifted from her stomach. If she was lucky to have anyone, it was Harry. For no one would understand her plight of dealing with Voldemort, Umbridge, and Sirius more than he.


	31. Chapter 31: OWL Examinations

Ron's euphoria at helping Gryffindor scrape the Quidditch Cup was such that he could not settle to anything next day. All he wanted to do was talk over the match and Christina, Harry, and Hermione found it very difficult to find an opening in which to mention Grawp – not that either of them tried very hard; neither was keen to be the one bring Ron back to reality in quite such a brutal fashion. As it was another fine, warm day, they persuaded him to join them in studying under the beech tree on the edge of the lake, where they stood less chance of being overheard than in the common room. Ron was not particularly keen on this idea at first; he was thoroughly enjoying being patted on the back by Gryffindors walking past his chair, not to mention the occasional outbursts of "Weasley Is Our King," but agreed after a while that some fresh air might do him good. They spread their books out in the shade of the beech tree and sat down while Ron talked them through his first save of the match for what felt like the dozenth time.

"Well, I mean, I'd already let in that one of Davies's, so I wasn't feeling that confident, but I dunno, when Bradley came toward me, just out of nowhere, I thought — you can do this! And I had about a second to decide which way to fly, you know, because he looked like he was aiming for the right goal hoop — my right, obviously, his left — but I had a funny feeling that he was feinting, and so I took the chance and flew left — his right, I mean — and — well — you saw what happened," he concluded modestly, sweeping his hair back quite unnecessarily so that it looked interestingly windswept and glancing around to see whether the people nearest to them — a bunch of gossiping third-year Hufflepuffs — had heard him. "And then, when Chambers came at me about five minutes later — what?" Ron said, stopping mid-sentence at the look on Christina's face. "Why are you grinning?"

"I'm not," said Christina quickly, looking down at her Transfiguration notes and attempting to straighten her face. The truth was that Ron had just reminded Christina forcibly of another Gryffindor Quidditch player who had once sat rumpling his hair under this very tree. "I'm just glad we won, that's all."

"Yeah," said Ron slowly, savoring the words, "we won. Did you see the look on Chang's face when Ginny got the Snitch right out from under her nose?"

"I suppose she cried, did she?" said Harry bitterly, Christina snorted.

"Well, yeah — more out of temper than anything, though . . ." Ron frowned slightly. "But you saw her chuck her broom away when she got back to the ground, didn't you?"

"Er —" said Harry.

"Well, actually . . . no, Ron," said Hermione with a heavy sigh, putting down her book and looking at him apologetically. "As a matter of fact, the only bit of the match Christina, Harry and I saw was Davies's first goal." Ron's carefully ruffled hair seemed to wilt with disappointment.

"You didn't watch?" he said faintly, looking from one to the other. "You didn't see me make any of those saves?"

"Well — no," said Hermione, stretching out a placatory hand toward him. "But Ron, we didn't want to leave — we had to!"

"Yeah?" said Ron, whose face was growing rather red. "How come?"

"It was Hagrid," said Christina. "He decided to tell us why he's been covered in injuries ever since he got back from the giants. He wanted us to go into the forest with him, we had no choice, you know how he gets. . . . Anyway . . ." The story was told in five minutes, by the end of which Ron's indignation had been replaced by a look of total incredulity. "He brought one back and hid it in the forest?"

"Yep," said Harry grimly.

"No," said Ron, as though by saying this he could make it untrue. "No, he can't have. . . ."

"Well, he has," said Hermione firmly. "Grawp's about sixteen feet tall, enjoys ripping up twenty-foot pine trees, and knows me," she snorted, "as Hermy." Ron gave a nervous laugh. "And Hagrid wants us to . . . ?"

"Teach him English, yeah," said Christina.

"He's lost his mind," said Ron in an almost awed voice.

"Yes," said Hermione irritably, turning a page of Intermediate Transfiguration and glaring at a series of diagrams showing an owl turning into a pair of opera glasses. "Yes, I'm starting to think he has. But unfortunately, he made Harry, Christina and me promise."

"Well, you're just going to have to break your promise, that's all," said Ron firmly. "I mean, come on . . . We've got exams and we're about that far," he held up his hand to show thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart, "from being chucked out as it is. And anyway . . . remember Norbert? Remember Aragog? I mean, Christina you're lucky this is your first! Have we ever come off better for mixing with any of Hagrid's monster mates?"

"I know, it's just that — we promised," said Hermione in a small voice. Ron smoothed his hair flat again, looking preoccupied.

"Well," he sighed, "Hagrid hasn't been sacked yet, has he? He's hung on this long, maybe he'll hang on till the end of term and we won't have to go near Grawp at all."

The castle grounds were gleaming in the sunlight as though freshly painted; the cloudless sky smiled at itself in the smoothly sparkling lake, the satin-green lawns rippled occasionally in a gentle breeze: June had arrived, but to the fifth years this meant only one thing: Their O.W.L.s were upon them at last. Their teachers were no longer setting them homework; lessons were devoted to reviewing those topics their teachers thought most likely to come up in the exams. The purposeful, feverish atmosphere drove nearly everything but the O.W.L.s from Christina's mind, though she did feel bad for Harry who still had Occlumency lessons on top of everything. She was quite busy and tense enough without extra classes with Snape, and to Christina's relief Hermione was much too preoccupied these days to badger her about Occlumency. Hermione was spending a lot of time muttering to herself and had not laid out any elf clothes for days. She was not the only person acting oddly as the O.W.L.s drew steadily nearer. Ernie Macmillan had developed an irritating habit of interrogating people about their study habits.

"How many hours d'you think you're doing a day?" he demanded of Christina, Harry and Ron as they queued outside Herbology, a manic gleam in his eyes.

"I dunno," said Ron. "A few . . ."

"More or less than eight?"

"Less, I s'pose," said Ron, looking slightly alarmed.

"I'm doing eight," said Ernie, puffing out his chest. "Eight or nine. I'm getting an hour in before breakfast every day. Eight's my average. I can do ten on a good weekend day. I did nine and a half on Monday. Not so good on Tuesday — only seven and a quarter. Then on Wednesday —" Christina was deeply thankful that Professor Sprout ushered them into greenhouse three at that point, forcing Ernie to abandon his recital. Meanwhile Draco Malfoy had found a different way to induce panic.

"Of course, it's not what you know," he was heard to tell Crabbe and Goyle loudly outside Potions a few days before the exams were to start, "it's who you know. Now, Father's been friendly with the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority for years — old Griselda Marchbanks — we've had her round for dinner and everything. . . ."

"Do you think that's true?" Hermione whispered to Christina, Harry and Ron, looking frightened.

"Nothing we can do about it if it is," said Ron gloomily.

"I don't think it's true," said Neville quietly from behind them. "Because Griselda Marchbanks is a friend of my gran's, and she's never mentioned the Malfoys."

"What's she like, Neville?" asked Hermione at once. "Is she strict?"

"Bit like Gran, really," said Neville in a subdued voice.

"Knowing her won't hurt your chances though, will it?" Ron told him encouragingly.

"Oh, I don't think it will make any difference," said Neville, still more miserably. "Gran's always telling Professor Marchbanks I'm not as good as my dad. . . . Well . . . you saw what she's like at St. Mungo's. . . ." Neville looked fixedly at the floor. Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced at one another, but didn't know what to say. It was the first time that Neville had acknowledged that they had met at the Wizarding hospital. Meanwhile a flourishing black-market trade in aids to concentration, mental agility, and wakefulness had sprung up among the fifth and seventh years. Christina, Harry and Ron were much tempted by the bottle of Baruffio's Brain Elixir offered to them by Ravenclaw sixth year Eddie Carmichael, who swore it was solely responsible for the nine "Outstanding" O.W.L.s he had gained the previous summer and was offering the whole pint for a mere twelve Galleons. Ron assured Harry he would reimburse him for his half the moment he left Hogwarts and got a job, but before they could close the deal, Hermione had confiscated the bottle from Carmichael and poured the contents down a toilet.

"Hermione, we wanted to buy that!" shouted Ron.

"Don't be stupid," she snarled. "You might as well take Harold Dingle's powdered dragon claw and have done with it."

"Dingle's got powdered dragon claw?" said Christina eagerly.

"Not anymore," said Hermione. "I confiscated that too. None of these things actually works you know —"

"Dragon claw does work!" said Ron. "It's supposed to be incredible, really gives your brain a boost, you come over all cunning for a few hours — Hermione, let me have a pinch, go on, it can't hurt —"

"This stuff can," said Hermione grimly. "I've had a look at it, and it's actually dried doxy droppings." This information took the edge off Christina, Harry and Ron's desire for brain stimulants. They received their examination schedules and details of the procedure for O.W.L.s during their next Transfiguration lesson.

"As you can see," Professor McGonagall told the class while they copied down the dates and times of their exams from the blackboard, "your O.W.L.s are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory exams in the mornings and the practice in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night.

"Now, I must warn you that the most stringent Anti-Cheating Charms have been applied to your examination papers. Auto-Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembralls, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs, and Self-Correcting Ink. Every year, I am afraid to say, seems to harbor at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority's rules. I can only hope that it is nobody in Gryffindor. Our new — headmistress" — Professor McGonagall pronounced the word with the sourest look— "has asked the Heads of House to tell their students that cheating will be punished most severely — because, of course, your examination results will reflect upon the headmistress's new regime at the school. . . ." Professor McGonagall gave a tiny sigh. Christina saw the nostrils of her sharp nose flare. "However, that is no reason not to do your very best. You have your own futures to think about."

"Please, Professor," said Hermione, her hand in the air, "when will we find out our results?"

"An owl will be sent to you sometime in July," said Professor McGonagall.

"Excellent," said Dean Thomas in an audible whisper, "so we don't have to worry about it till the holidays. . . ." Christina imagined sitting in Fred's office on Diagon Alley in six weeks' time, waiting for her O.W.L. results. Well, she thought, at least she would be sure of one bit of post next summer. . . . Their first exam, Theory of Charms, was scheduled for Monday morning. Christina agreed to test Hermione after lunch on Sunday but regretted it almost at once. She was very agitated and kept snatching the book back from her to check that she had gotten the answer completely right, finally hitting her hard on the nose with the sharp edge of Achievements in Charming.

"Why don't you just do it yourself?" Christina said firmly, handing the book back to her, Christina's eyes watering.

Meanwhile Harry was summoning objects across the room at the same time Ron was reading two years of Charms notes with his fingers in his ears, his lips moving soundlessly; Seamus was lying flat on his back on the floor, reciting the definition of a Substantive Charm, while Dean checked it against The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5; and Parvati and Lavender, who were practicing basic locomotion charms, were making their pencil cases race each other around the edge of the table.

Dinner was a subdued affair that night. Christina ate normally, she had no worries about Charms, if it weren't for Hermione she would be at the top of the class. Harry and Ron did not talk much, but ate with gusto, having studied hard all day. Hermione on the other hand kept putting down her knife and fork and diving under the table for her bag, from which she would seize a book to check some fact or figure. Ron was just telling her that she ought to eat a decent meal or she would not sleep that night, when her fork slid from her limp fingers and landed with a loud tinkle on her plate.

"Oh, my goodness," she said faintly, staring into the entrance hall. "Is that them? Is that the examiners?" Christina, Harry and Ron whipped around on their bench. Through the doors to the Great Hall they could see Umbridge standing with a small group of ancient-looking witches and wizards. Umbridge, Christina was pleased to see, looked rather nervous.

"Shall we go and have a closer look?" said Ron. Christina, Harry and Hermione nodded and they hastened toward the double doors into the entrance hall, slowing down as they stepped over the threshold to walk sedately past the examiners. Christina thought Professor Marchbanks must be the tiny, stooped witch with a face so lined it looked as though it had been draped in cobwebs; Umbridge was speaking to her very deferentially. Professor Marchbanks seemed to be a little deaf; she was answering Umbridge very loudly considering that they were only a foot apart.

"Journey was fine, journey was fine, we've made it plenty of times before!" she said impatiently. "Now, I haven't heard from Dumbledore lately!" she added, peering around the hall as though hopeful he might suddenly emerge from a broom cupboard. "No idea where he is, I suppose?"

"None at all," said Umbridge, shooting a malevolent look at Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were now dawdling around the foot of the stairs as Ron pretended to do up his shoelace. "But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will track him down soon enough. . . ."

"I doubt it," shouted tiny Professor Marchbanks, "not if Dumbledore doesn't want to be found! I should know. . . . Examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did N.E.W.T.s . . . Did things with a wand I'd never seen before . . ."

"Yes . . . well . . ." said Professor Umbridge as Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione dragged their feet up the marble staircase as slowly as they dared, "let me show you to the staffroom . . . I daresay you'd like a cup of tea after your journey. . . ."

It was an uncomfortable sort of an evening. Everyone was trying to do some last-minute studying but nobody seemed to be getting very far. Christina went to bed early but then lay awake for what felt like hours. She remembered her careers consultation and McGonagall's furious declaration that she would help Christina become an Auror if it was the last thing she did. . . . Christina wished she had expressed a more achievable ambition now that exam time was here. . . . She knew that she was not the only one lying awake, but none of the others in the dormitory spoke and finally, one by one, they fell asleep.

None of the fifth years talked very much at breakfast next day either. Parvati was practicing incantations under her breath while the salt cellar in front of her twitched, Hermione was rereading Achievement in Charming so fast that her eyes appeared blurred, and Neville kept dropping his knife and fork and knocking over the marmalade. Once breakfast was over, the fifth and seventh years milled around in the entrance hall while the other students went off to lessons. Then, at half-past nine, they were called forward class by class to reenter the Great Hall, which was now arranged exactly as Christina had seen it in the Pensieve when her father; Sirius, and Snape had been taking their O.W.L.s. The four House tables had been removed and replaced instead with many tables for one, all facing the staff-table end of the Hall where Professor McGonagall stood facing them. When they were all seated and quiet she said, "You may begin," and turned over an enormous hourglass on the desk beside her, on which were also spare quills, ink bottles, and rolls of parchment. Christina turned over her paper, her heart thumping hard. . . . She lowered her eyes to the first question: a) Give the incantation, and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly. . . . Christina had a fleeting memory of a large boulder soaring threw the air at a dragon. . . . Smiling slightly, she bent over the paper and began to write. . . .

"Well, it wasn't too bad, was it?" asked Hermione anxiously in the entrance hall two hours later, still clutching the exam paper. "I'm not sure I did myself justice on Cheering Charms, I just ran out of time — did you put in the countercharm for hiccups? I wasn't sure whether I ought to, it felt like too much — and on question twenty three —"

"Hermione," said Ron sternly, "we've been through this before. . . . We're not going through every exam afterward, it's bad enough doing them once." The fifth years ate lunch with the rest of the school (the four House tables reappeared over the lunch hour) and then trooped off into the small chamber beside the Great Hall, where they were to wait until called for their practical examination. As small groups of students were called forward in alphabetical order, those left behind muttered incantations and practiced wand movements, occasionally poking one another in the back or eye by mistake.

Christina's name was called. Trembling, she left the chamber with Susan Bones, Terry Boot, and Mandy Brocklehurst. Christina walked into the Great Hall, clutching her wand so tightly her hand shook.

"Professor Tofty is free, Bataskill," squeaked Professor Flitwick, who was standing just inside the door. He pointed Christina toward what looked like the very oldest and baldest examiner, who was sitting behind a small table in a far corner.

"Bataskill, is it?" said Professor Tofty, consulting his notes and peering over his pince-nez at Christina as she approached. "The famous Bataskill?" Professor Tofty smiled back at her encouragingly.

"That's it," he said in his quavery old voice, "no need to be nervous. . . . Now, if I could ask you to take this eggcup and make it do some cartwheels for me. . . ." On the whole Christina thought it went rather well; her Levitation Charm was certainly much better than she had practiced, though she wished she had not mixed up the incantations for Color-Change and Growth Charms, so that the rat she was supposed to be turning orange swelled shockingly and was the size of a badger before Christina could rectify her mistake. She was glad Hermione had not been in the Hall at the time and neglected to mention it to her afterward. She could tell Harry and Ron, though; Ron had caused a dinner plate to mutate into a large mushroom and had no idea how it had happened. There was no time to relax that night — they went straight to the common room after dinner and submerged themselves in studying for Transfiguration next day.

Christina went to bed, her head buzzing with complex spell models and theories. She forgot the definition of a Switching Spell during her written exam next morning, but thought her practical could have been a lot worse. At least she managed to vanish the whole of her iguana, whereas poor Hannah Abbott lost her head completely at the next table and somehow managed to multiply her ferret into a flock of flamingos, causing the examination to be halted for ten minutes while the birds were captured and carried out of the Hall. They had their Herbology exam on Wednesday (other than a small bite from a Fanged Geranium, Christina felt she had done reasonably well) and then, on Thursday, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Here, Christina felt sure she had passed. She had no problem with any of the written questions and took particular pleasure, during the practical examination, in performing all the counter-jinxes and defensive spells right in front of Umbridge, who was watching coolly from near the doors into the entrance hall.

"Oh bravo!" cried Professor Tofty, who was examining Christina again, when Christina demonstrated a perfect boggart banishing spell. "Very good indeed! Well, I think that's all, Christina . . . unless . . ." She leaned forward a little. "I heard, from my dear friend Tiberius Ogden, that you can produce a Patronus? For a bonus point . . . ?" Christina raised his wand, looked directly at Umbridge, and imagined her being sacked. "Expecto Patronum!" The silver fox erupted from the end of her wand and cantered the length of the hall. All of the examiners looked around to watch its progress and when it dissolved into silver mist, Professor Tofty clapped his veined and knotted hands enthusiastically.

"Excellent!" he said. "Very well, Bataskill, you may go!" As Christina passed Umbridge beside the door their eyes met. There was a nasty smile playing around her wide, slack mouth, but she did not care. Unless she was very much mistaken (and she was not planning on saying it to anybody, in case she was), she had just achieved an "Outstanding" O.W.L.

On Friday, Christina, Harry and Ron had a day off while Hermione sat her Ancient Runes exam, and as they had the whole weekend in front of them, they permitted themselves a break from studying. They stretched and yawned beside the open window, through which warm summer air wafted over them as Harry and Ron played a desultory game of wizard chess. Christina could see Hagrid in the distance, teaching a class on the edge of the forest. She was trying to guess what creatures they were examining — she thought it must be unicorns, because the boys seemed to be standing back a little — when the portrait hole opened and Hermione clambered in, looking thoroughly bad tempered.

"How were the runes?" said Ron, yawning and stretching.

"I mistranslated 'ehwaz,' " said Hermione furiously. "It means 'partnership,' not 'defense,' I mixed it up with 'eihwaz.' "

"Ah well," said Ron lazily, "that's only one mistake, isn't it, you'll still get —"

"Oh shut up," said Hermione angrily, "it could be the one mistake that makes the difference between a pass and a fail. And what's more, someone's put another niffler in Umbridge's office, I don't know how they got it through that new door, but I just walked past there and Umbridge is shrieking her head off — by the sound of it, it tried to take a chunk out of her leg —"

"Good," said Harry and Ron together, Christina laughed loudly.

"It is not good!" said Hermione hotly. "She thinks it's Hagrid doing it, remember? And we do not want Hagrid chucked out!"

"He's teaching at the moment, she can't blame him," said Christina, gesturing out of the window.

"Oh, you're so naive sometimes, Christina, you really think Umbridge will wait for proof?" said Hermione, who seemed determined to be in a towering temper, and she swept off toward the girls' dormitories, banging the door behind her.

"Such a lovely, sweet-tempered girl," said Ron, very quietly, prodding his queen forward so that she could begin beating up one of Harry's knights. Hermione's bad mood persisted for most of the weekend, though Christina, Harry and Ron found it quite easy to ignore as they spent most of Saturday and Sunday studying for Potions on Monday, the exam to which Christina was looking forward least and which she was sure would be the one that would be the downfall of her ambitions to become an Auror. Sure enough, she found the written exam difficult, though she thought she might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion: She could describe its effects extremely accurately, having heard dozens of times of Harry, Ron and Hermione taking it illegally in their second year.

The afternoon practical was not as dreadful as she had expected it to be. With Snape absent from the proceedings she found that she was much more relaxed than she usually was while making potions. When Professor Marchbanks said, "Step away from your cauldrons, please, the examination is over," Christina corked her sample flask feeling that she might not have achieved an 'Outstanding' but that she had, with luck, avoided a Troll.

"Only four exams left," said Parvati Patil wearily as they headed back to Gryffindor common room.

"Only!" said Hermione snappishly. "I've got Arithmancy and it's probably the toughest subject there is!" Nobody was foolish enough to snap back, so she was unable to vent her spleen on any of them and was reduced to telling off some first years for giggling too loudly in the common room.

Christina was determined to perform well in Tuesday's Care of Magical Creatures exam so as not to let Hagrid down. The practical examination took place in the afternoon on the lawn on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where students were required to correctly identify the knarl hidden among a dozen hedgehogs (the trick was to offer them all milk in turn: knarls, highly suspicious creatures whose quills had many magical properties, generally went berserk at what they saw as an attempt to poison them); then demonstrate correct handling of a bowtruckle, feed and clean a fire-crab without sustaining serious burns, and choose, from a wide selection of food, the diet they would give a sick unicorn. Christina could see Hagrid watching anxiously out of his cabin window. When Christina's examiner, a plump little witch this time, smiled at her and told her she could leave, Christina gave Hagrid a fleeting thumbs-up before heading back up to the castle. The Astronomy theory exam on Wednesday morning went well enough; Christina was not convinced she had got the names of all of Jupiter's moons right, but was at least confident that none of them was inhabited by mice. They had to wait until evening for their practical Astronomy; the afternoon was devoted instead to Divination. Even by Christina's low standards in Divination, the exam went very badly. She might as well have tried to see moving pictures in the desktop as in the stubbornly blank crystal ball; she lost her head completely during tea-leaf reading, saying it looked to her as though Professor Marchbanks would shortly be meeting a round, dark, soggy stranger, and rounded off the whole fiasco by mixing up the life and head lines on her palm and informing her that she ought to have died the previous Tuesday.

"Well, we were always going to fail that one," said Ron gloomily as they ascended the marble staircase. He had just made Christina feel rather better by telling her how he told the examiner in detail about the ugly man with a wart on his nose in his crystal ball, only to look up and realize he had been describing his examiner's reflection.

"We shouldn't have taken the stupid subject in the first place," said Harry. "Still, at least we can give it up now."

"Yeah," said Christina. "No more pretending we care what happens when Jupiter and Uranus get too friendly . . ."

"And from now on, I don't care if my tea leaves spell die, Ron, die — I'm just chucking them in the bin where they belong." Christina and Harry laughed just as Hermione came running up behind them. They stopped laughing at once, in case it annoyed her.

"Well, I think I've done all right in Arithmancy," she said, and Christina, Harry and Ron both sighed with relief. "Just time for a quick look over our star charts before dinner, then . . ." When they reached the top of the Astronomy Tower at eleven o'clock they found a perfect night for stargazing, cloudless and still. The grounds were bathed in silvery moonlight, and there was a slight chill in the air. Each of them set up his or her telescope and, when Professor Marchbanks gave the word, proceeded to fill in the blank star chart he or she had been given. Professors Marchbanks and Tofty strolled among them, watching as they entered the precise positions of the stars and planets they were observing. All was quiet except for the rustle of parchment, the occasional creak of a telescope as it was adjusted on its stand, and the scribbling of many quills. Half an hour passed, then an hour; the little squares of reflected gold light flickering on the ground below started to vanish as lights in the castle windows were extinguished. As Christina completed the constellation Orion on his chart, however, the front doors of the castle opened directly below the parapet where she was standing, so that light spilled down the stone steps a little way across the lawn. Christina glanced down as she made a slight adjustment to the position of her telescope and saw five or six elongated shadows moving over the brightly lit grass before the doors swung shut and the lawn became a sea of darkness once more. Christina put her eye back to her telescope and refocused it, now examining Venus. She looked down at her chart to enter the planet there, but something distracted her. Pausing with her quill suspended over the parchment, she squinted down into the shadowy grounds and saw half a dozen figures walking over the lawn. If they had not been moving, and the moonlight had not been gilding the tops of their heads, they would have been indistinguishable from the dark ground on which they stood. Even at this distance, Christina had a funny feeling that she recognized the walk of the squattest among them, who seemed to be leading the group. She could not think why Umbridge would be taking a stroll outside past midnight, much less accompanied by five others. Then somebody coughed behind her, and she remembered that she was halfway through an exam. She had quite forgotten Venus's position — jamming her eye to her telescope, she found it again and was again on the point of entering it on his chart when, alert for any odd sound, she heard a distant knock that echoed through the deserted grounds, followed immediately by the muffled barking of a large dog. She looked up, her heart hammering. There were lights on in Hagrid's windows and the people she had observed crossing the lawn were now silhouetted against them. The door opened and she distinctly saw six tiny but sharply defined figures walk over the threshold. The door closed again and there was silence. Christina felt very uneasy. She glanced around to see whether Harry, Ron or Hermione had noticed what he had, but Professor Marchbanks came walking behind her at that moment, and not wanting to appear as though she was sneaking looks at anyone else's work, she hastily bent over her star chart and pretended to be adding notes to it while really peering over the top of the parapet toward Hagrid's cabin. Figures were now moving across the cabin windows, temporarily blocking the light. She could feel Professor Marchbanks's eyes on the back of her neck and pressed her eye again to her telescope, staring up at the moon though she had marked its position an hour ago, but as Professor Marchbanks moved on she heard a roar from the distant cabin that echoed through the darkness right to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Several of the people around Christina ducked out from behind their telescopes and peered instead in the direction of Hagrid's cabin. Professor Tofty gave another dry little cough.

"Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls," he said softly. Most people returned to their telescopes. Christina looked to her left. Harry was gazing transfixed at Hagrid's.

"Ahem — twenty minutes to go," said Professor Tofty. Harry jumped and returned at once to his star chart; Christina looked down at her own and noticed that she had mislabelled Venus as Mars. She bent to correct it. There was a loud BANG from the grounds. Several people said "Ouch!" as they poked themselves in the face with the ends of their telescopes, hastening to see what was going on below. Hagrid's door had burst open and by the light flooding out of the cabin they saw him quite clearly, a massive figure roaring and brandishing his fists, surrounded by six people, all of whom, judging by the tiny threads of red light they were casting in his direction, seemed to be attempting to Stun him.

"No!" cried Hermione.

"My dear!" said Professor Tofty in a scandalized voice. "This is an examination!" But nobody was paying the slightest attention to their star charts anymore: Jets of red light were still flying beside Hagrid's cabin, yet somehow they seemed to be bouncing off him. He was still upright and still, as far as Christina could see, fighting. Cries and yells echoed across the grounds; a man yelled, "Be reasonable, Hagrid!" and Hagrid roared, "Reasonable be damned, yeh won' take me like this, Dawlish!" Christina could see the tiny outline of Fang, attempting to defend Hagrid, leaping at the wizards surrounding him until a Stunning Spell caught him and he fell to the ground, Christina yelped in anguish. Hagrid gave a howl of fury, lifted the culprit bodily from the ground, and threw him: The man flew what looked like ten feet and did not get up again. Hermione gasped, both hands over her mouth; Christina looked around at Ron and saw that he too was looking scared. None of them had ever seen Hagrid in a real temper before. . . .

"Look!" squealed Parvati, who was leaning over the parapet and pointing to the foot of the castle where the front doors seemed to have opened again; more light had spilled out onto the dark lawn and a single long black shadow was now rippling across the lawn.

"Now, really!" said Professor Tofty anxiously. "Only sixteen minutes left, you know!" But nobody paid him the slightest attention: They were watching the person now sprinting toward the battle beside Hagrid's cabin. "How dare you!" the figure shouted as she ran. "How dare you!"

"It's McGonagall!" whispered Hermione.

"Leave him alone! Alone, I say!" said Professor McGonagall's voice through the darkness. "On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such —" Hermione, Parvati, and Lavender all screamed. No fewer than four Stunners had shot from the figures around the cabin toward Professor McGonagall. Halfway between cabin and castle the red beams collided with her. For a moment she looked luminous, illuminated by an eerie red glow, then was lifted right off her feet, landed hard on her back, and moved no more.

"Galloping gargoyles!" shouted Professor Tofty, who seemed to have forgotten the exam completely. "Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behavior!"

"COWARDS!" bellowed Hagrid, his voice carrying clearly to the top of the tower, and several lights flickered back on inside the castle. "RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O' THAT — AN' THAT —"

"Oh my —" gasped Hermione. Hagrid took two massive swipes at his closest attackers; judging by their immediate collapse, they had been knocked cold. Christina saw him double over and thought for a moment that he had finally been overcome by a spell, but on the contrary, next moment Hagrid was standing again with what appeared to be a sack on his back — then Christina realized that Fang's limp body was draped around his shoulders.

"Get him, get him!" screamed Umbridge, but her remaining helper seemed highly reluctant to go within reach of Hagrid's fists. Indeed, he was backing away so fast he tripped over one of his unconscious colleagues and fell over. Hagrid had turned and begun to run with Fang still hung around his neck; Umbridge sent one last Stunning Spell after him but it missed, and Hagrid, running full-pelt toward the distant gates, disappeared into the darkness. There was a long minute's quivering silence, everybody gazing openmouthed into the grounds. Then Professor Tofty's voice said feebly, "Um . . . five minutes to go, everybody . . ." Though she had only filled in two-thirds of her chart, Christina was desperate for the end of the exam. When it came at last she, Harry, Ron, and Hermione forced their telescopes haphazardly back into their holders and dashed back down the spiral staircase. None of the students were going to bed — they were all talking loudly and excitedly at the foot of the stairs about what they had witnessed.

"That evil woman!" gasped Hermione, who seemed to be having difficulty talking due to rage. "Trying to sneak up on Hagrid in the dead of night!"

"She clearly wanted to avoid another scene like Trelawney's," said Ernie Macmillan sagely, squeezing over to join them.

"Hagrid did well, didn't he?" said Ron, who looked more alarmed than impressed. "How come all the spells bounced off him?"

"It'll be his giant blood," said Hermione shakily. "It's very hard to Stun a giant, they're like trolls, really tough. . . . But poor Professor McGonagall. . . . Four Stunners straight in the chest, and she's not exactly young, is she?"

"Dreadful, dreadful," said Ernie, shaking his head pompously. "Well, I'm off to bed. . . . 'Night, all . . ." People around them were drifting away, still talking excitedly about what they had just seen.

"At least they didn't get to take Hagrid off to Azkaban," said Ron. "I 'spect he's gone to join Dumbledore, hasn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Hermione, who looked tearful. "Oh, this is awful, I really thought Dumbledore would be back before long, but now we've lost Hagrid too. . . ." They traipsed back to the Gryffindor common room to find it full. The commotion out in the grounds had woken several people, who had hastened to rouse their friends. Seamus and Dean, who had arrived ahead of Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, were now telling everyone what they had heard from the top of the Astronomy Tower.

"But why sack Hagrid now?" asked Angelina Johnson, shaking her head. "It's not like Trelawney, he's been teaching much better than usual this year!"

"Umbridge hates part-humans," said Hermione bitterly, flopping down into an armchair. "She was always going to try and get Hagrid out."

"And she thought Hagrid was putting nifflers in her office," piped up Katie Bell.

"Oh blimey," said Lee Jordan, covering his mouth. "It's me's been putting the nifflers in her office, Fred and George left me a couple, I've been levitating them in through her window. . . ."

"She'd have sacked him anyway," said Dean. "He was too close to Dumbledore."

"That's true," said Christina, sinking into an armchair beside Hermione's.

"I just hope Professor McGonagall's all right," said Lavender tearfully.

"They carried her back up to the castle, we watched through the dormitory window," said Colin Creevey "She didn't look very well. . . ."

"Madam Pomfrey will sort her out," said Alicia Spinnet firmly. "She's never failed yet."

It was nearly four in the morning before the common room cleared. Christina felt wide awake — the image of Hagrid sprinting away into the dark was haunting her. She was so angry with Umbridge she could not think of a punishment bad enough for her, though Ron's suggestion of having her fed to a box of starving Blast-Ended Skrewts had its merits. She fell asleep contemplating hideous revenges and arose from bed three hours later feeling distinctly unrested. Their final exam, History of Magic, was not to take place until that afternoon. Christina would very much have liked to go back to bed after breakfast, but she had been counting on the morning for a spot of last-minute studying, so instead she sat with her head in her hands by the common room window, trying hard not to doze off as she read through some of the notes stacked three-and-a-half feet high that Hermione had lent her.

The fifth years entered the Great Hall at two o'clock and took their places in front of their overturned examination papers. Christina felt exhausted. She just wanted this to be over so that she could go and sleep. Then tomorrow, she, Harry and Ron were going to go down to the Quidditch pitch — she was going to have a fly on Ron's broom and savor their freedom from studying. . . .

"Turn over your papers," said Professor Marchbanks from the front of the Hall, flicking over the giant hourglass. "You may begin. . . ." Christina stared fixedly at the first question. It was several seconds before it occurred to her that she had not taken in a word of it; there was a wasp buzzing distractingly against one of the high windows. Slowly, tortuously, she began to write an answer. She was finding it very difficult to remember names and kept confusing dates. She simply skipped question four: _In your opinion, did wand legislation contribute to, or lead to better control of, goblin riots of the eighteenth century?_ thinking that she would go back to it if she had time at the end. She had a stab at question five: _How was the Statute of Secrecy breached in 1749 and what measures were introduced to prevent a recurrence?_ but had a nagging suspicion that she had missed several important points. She had a feeling vampires had come into the story somewhere. . . .

She looked ahead for a question she could definitely answer and her eyes alighted upon number ten. Describe the circumstances that led to the Formation of the International Confederation of Wizards and explain why the warlocks of Liechtenstein refused to join. I know this, Christina thought, though her brain felt torpid and slack. She could visualize a heading, in Hermione's handwriting: The Formation of the International Confederation of Wizards. . . She had read these notes only this morning. . . . She began to write, looking up now and again to check the large hourglass on the desk beside Professor Marchbanks. . . . the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was Pierre Bonaccord, but his appointment was contested by the Wizarding community of Liechtenstein, because — All around Christina quills were scratching on parchment like scurrying, burrowing rats. The sun was very hot on the back of her head. What was it that Bonaccord had done to offend the wizards of Liechtenstein? Christina had a feeling it had something to do with trolls. . . . She gazed blankly at the back of Terry Boot's head. If she could only perform Legilimency and open a window in the back of his head and see what it was about trolls that had caused the breach between Pierre Bonaccord and Liechtenstein. . . . Christina closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands, so that the glowing red of his eyelids grew dark and cool. Bonaccord had wanted to stop troll-hunting and give the trolls rights . . . but Liechtenstein was having problems with a tribe of particularly vicious mountain trolls. . . . That was it. . . . She opened her eyes; they stung and watered at the sight of the blazing-white parchment. Slowly she wrote two lines about the trolls then read through what she had done so far. It did not seem very informative or detailed, yet she was sure Hermione's notes on the confederation had gone on for pages and pages. . . .

She closed her eyes again, trying to see them, trying to remember. . . . The confederation had met for the first time in France, yes, she had written that already. . . . Goblins had tried to attend and been ousted. . . . She had written that too. . . . And nobody from Liechtenstein had wanted to come . . . Think, she told himself, her face in her hands, while all around her quills scratched out never-ending answers and the sand trickled through the hourglass at the front. . . . Christina's eyes begged to close, it seemed as though she was literally prying them open. Then Christina remembered a few times where this happened before and what followed next . . . Divination classes and final exam . . . at night when she was seemingly full of energy and then all the sudden extraordinarily tired . . . Christina pinched herself trying to keep herself awake, knowing full well that if she closed her eyes she'd go to the Department of Mysteries . . .

Christina tried to turn to Harry, to see if maybe she was mad and no one was trying to force her asleep but he was behind her, and surely it would be suspicious if she completely turned around. . . .She looked down at her paper and saw that the right edge of her paper was starting to get soaked in blood. Her blood. She lifted her right hand and her scar was bleeding, badly. Just then someone from behind her screamed, but she already suspected who. Everyone turned and Christina jumped up rushing over to Harry who had hit the ground and awoke, still yelling, clutching his scar as the Great Hall erupted all around him.


	32. Chapter 32: Stone Cold

"I'm not going . . . I don't need the hospital wing . . . I don't want . . ."

Harry was gibbering, trying to pull away from Professor Tofty, who was looking at him with much concern, and who had just helped Harry out into the entrance hall while the students all around them stared. Christina was ushered back to her seat to finish her exam but she couldn't, there was nothing on her mind other than what Harry had just seen. She tried to close her eyes and focus on seeing something, anything but the force pushing her to sleep seemed to have gone, her scar wasn't bleeding anymore either. Before long, Professor Tofty finally exclaimed that the exam was over and Christina fled out of the Great Hall with Hermione and Ron on her tail.

"Christina! What happened? You're bleeding? Did you see something?" said Ron, scared and perplexed.

"I'm fine, Harry must have fell asleep and saw something!" said Christina in a huff as they ran to the stone steps. Christina saw Harry running towards them.

"Harry!" said Hermione at once, looking very frightened. "What happened? Are you all right? Are you ill?"

"Where have you been?" demanded Ron.

"What did you see?" Christina said urgently.

"Come with me," Harry said quickly. "Come on, I've got to tell you something. . . ." He led them along the first-floor corridor, peering through doorways, and at last found an empty classroom into which he dived, closing the door behind Christina, Ron and Hermione the moment they were inside and leaning against it, facing them.

"Voldemort's got Sirius."

"What?" said Christina, now worried.

"How d'you — ?" asked Hermione.

"Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam."

"But — but where? How?" said Hermione, whose face was white.

"I dunno how," said Harry. "But I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls, and they're at the end of row ninety-seven . . . He's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there. . . . He's torturing him. . . . Says he'll end by killing him . . ." Christina found his voice was shaking, as were his knees. Harry moved over to a desk and sat down on it, trying to master himself.

"How're we going to get there?" he asked them. There was a moment's silence. Then Ron said, "G-get there?"

"Get to the Department of Mysteries, so we can rescue Sirius!" Harry said loudly.

"But — Harry . . ." said Ron weakly.

"What? What?" said Harry. He seemed confused to the opposition.

"Harry," said Hermione in a rather frightened voice, "er . . . how . . . how did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realizing he was there?"

"How do I know?" bellowed Harry. "The question is how we're going to get in there!"

"But . . . Harry, think about this," said Hermione, taking a step toward him, "it's five o'clock in the afternoon. . . . The Ministry of Magic must be full of workers. . . . How would Voldemort and Sirius have got in without being seen? Harry . . . they're probably the two most wanted wizards in the world. . . . You think they could get into a building full of Aurors undetected?"

"I dunno, Voldemort used an Invisibility Cloak or something!" Harry shouted. "Anyway, the Department of Mysteries has always been completely empty whenever I've been —"

"You've never been there, Harry," said Hermione quietly. "You've dreamed about the place, that's all."

"They're not normal dreams!" Harry shouted in her face, standing up and taking a step closer to her in turn. He looked like he was going to shake her. "How d'you explain Ron's dad then, what was all that about, how come I knew what had happened to him?"

"He's got a point," said Ron quietly, looking at Hermione. Christina bit her lip, she couldn't think of anything to say, she knew the dreams but also felt the extreme fear that Voldemort may have wanted Christina and Harry to see him torture Sirius . . .

"But this is just — just so unlikely!" said Hermione desperately. "Harry, how on earth could Voldemort have got hold of Sirius when he's been in Grimmauld Place all the time?" To this, Christina's heart sank.

"Me." Harry, Hermione, and Ron turned to her, startled by her first words. "When I spoke to him in the fireplace things got . . . stressed and he said he wanted to come and see me." Harry pointed to Christina looking at Hermione as though Christina was all the proof he needed.

"Didn't you see it, Christina?" he said annoyed.

"I felt like someone was pulling me into a dream … if that makes any sense." Christina muttered.

"But why," Hermione persisted, "why on earth would Voldemort want to use Sirius to get the weapon, or whatever the thing is?"

"I dunno, there could be loads of reasons!" Harry yelled at her. "Maybe Sirius is just someone Voldemort doesn't care about seeing hurt —"

"You know what, I've just thought of something," said Ron in a hushed voice. "Sirius's brother was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe he told Sirius the secret of how to get the weapon!"

"Yeah — and that's why Dumbledore's been so keen to keep Sirius locked up all the time!" said Harry.

"Look, I'm sorry," cried Hermione, "but neither of you are making sense, and we've got no proof for any of this, no proof Voldemort and Sirius are even there —"

"Hermione, Harry's seen them! And Christina would have too!" said Ron, rounding on her.

"Okay," she said, looking frightened yet determined, "I've just got to say this. . . ."

"What?"

"You . . . This isn't a criticism, Harry! But you do . . . sort of . . . I mean — don't you think you've got a bit of a — a — saving-people-thing?" she said. He glared at her.

"And what's that supposed to mean, a 'saving-people-thing'?"

"Well . . . you . . ." She looked more apprehensive than ever. "I mean . . . last year, for instance . . . in the lake . . . during the Tournament . . . you shouldn't have . . . I mean, you didn't need to save that little Delacour girl. . . . You got a bit . . . carried away . . . I mean, it was really great of you and everything," said Hermione quickly, looking positively petrified at the look on Harry's face. "Everyone thought it was a wonderful thing to do —"

"That's funny," said Harry in a trembling voice, "because I definitely remember Ron saying I'd wasted time acting the hero. . . . Is that what you think this is? You reckon I want to act the hero again?"

"No, no, no!" said Hermione, looking aghast. Christina felt bad but didn't want to jump into to the gaping hole Hermione was digging for herself. "That's not what I mean at all!"

"Well, spit out what you've got to say, because we're wasting time here!" Harry shouted.

"I'm trying to say — Voldemort knows you, Harry! He took Ginny down into the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it's the kind of thing he does, he knows you're the — the sort of person who'd go to Sirius's aid! What if he's just trying to get you into the Department of Myst — ?"

"Hermione, it doesn't matter if he's done it to get me there or not — they've taken McGonagall to St. Mungo's, there isn't anyone left from the Order at Hogwarts who we can tell, and if we don't go, Sirius is dead!"

"But Harry — what if your dream was — was just that, a dream?" Harry let out a roar of frustration to which Christina understood. Hermione actually stepped back from him, looking alarmed.

"Now Hermione-" Christina tried to help, but Harry was livid.

"You don't get it!" Harry shouted at her. "I'm not having nightmares, I'm not just dreaming! What d'you think all the Occlumency was for, why d'you think Dumbledore wanted me prevented from seeing these things? Because they're REAL, Hermione — Sirius is trapped — I've seen him — Voldemort's got him, and no one else knows, and that means we're the only ones who can save him, and if you don't want to do it, fine, but I'm going, understand? And if I remember rightly, you didn't have a problem with my saving-people-thing when it was you I was saving from the dementors, or" — he rounded on Ron — "when it was your sister I was saving from the basilisk —"

"I never said I had a problem!" said Ron heatedly.

"But Harry, you've just said it," said Hermione fiercely. "Dumbledore wanted you to learn to shut these things out of your mind, if you'd done Occlumency properly you'd never have seen this —"

"IF YOU THINK I'M JUST GOING TO ACT LIKE I HAVEN'T SEEN —"

"Sirius told you there was nothing more important than you learning to close your mind!"

"WELL, I EXPECT HE'D SAY SOMETHING DIFFERENT IF HE KNEW WHAT I'D JUST —" The classroom door opened. Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione whipped around. Ginny walked in, looking curious, followed by Luna, who as usual looked as though she had drifted in accidentally.

"Hi," said Ginny uncertainly. "We recognized Harry's voice — what are you yelling about?"

"Never you mind," said Harry roughly. Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"There's no need to take that tone with me," she said coolly. "I was only wondering whether I could help."

"Well, you can't," said Harry shortly.

"You're being rather rude, you know," said Luna serenely. Harry swore and turned away. The very last thing they need now was a conversation with Luna Lovegood.

"Wait," said Hermione suddenly. "Wait . . . Harry, they can help." Christina, Harry and Ron looked at her.

"Listen," she said urgently, "Harry, we need to establish whether Sirius really has left headquarters —"

"I've told you, I saw —"

"Harry, I'm begging you, please!" said Hermione desperately. "Please let's just check that Sirius isn't at home before we go charging off to London — if we find out he's not there then I swear I won't try and stop you, I'll come, I'll d-do whatever it takes to try and save him —"

"Sirius is being tortured NOW!" shouted Harry. "We haven't got time to waste —"

"But if this is a trick of V-Voldemort's — Harry, we've got to check, we've got to —"

"How?" Harry demanded. "How're we going to check?"

"You'll have to use Umbridge's fire and see if you can contact him," said Christina, Hermione looked positively terrified at the thought but agreed.

"We'll draw Umbridge away again, but we'll need lookouts, and that's where we can use Ginny and Luna." said Hermione. Though clearly struggling to understand what was going on, Ginny said immediately, "Yeah, we'll do it," and Luna said, "When you say 'Sirius,' are you talking about Stubby Boardman?" Nobody answered her.

"Okay," Harry said aggressively to Hermione, "Okay, if you can think of a way of doing this quickly, I'm with you, otherwise I'm going to the Department of Mysteries right now —"

"The Department of Mysteries?" said Luna, looking mildly surprised. "But how are you going to get there?" Again, Harry ignored her.

"Right," said Hermione, twisting her hands together and pacing up and down between the desks. "Right . . . well . . . One of us has to go and find Umbridge and — and send her off in the wrong direction, keep her away from her office. They could tell her — I don't know — that Peeves is up to something awful as usual. . . ."

"I'll do it," said Ron at once. "I'll tell her Peeves is smashing up the Transfiguration department or something, it's miles away from her office. Come to think of it, I could probably persuade Peeves to do it if I met him on the way. . . ." It was a mark of the seriousness of the situation that Hermione made no objection to the smashing up of the Transfiguration department.

"Okay," she said, her brow furrowed as she continued to pace. "Now, we need to keep students away from her office while we force entry, or some Slytherin's bound to go and tip her off. . . ."

"Luna and I can stand at either end of the corridor," said Ginny promptly, "and warn people not to go down there because someone's let off a load of Garroting Gas." Hermione looked surprised at the readiness with which Ginny had come up with this lie. Christina laughed and said, "Fred and George were planning to do it before they left."

"Okay," said Hermione, "well then, Harry, you and I will be under the Invisibility Cloak, and we-"

"I can just take him, you know, go through the door . . . it'll be faster without the cloak." Hermione hated whenever Christina used her powers but sighed and nodded her head.

"Fine. But, I don't think you should be in there alone, Lee's already proved the window's a weak spot, sending those nifflers through it so Christina you can keep watch within the office." Even through his anger and impatience Harry recognized Hermione compromising her values.

"I . . . okay, thanks," he muttered.

"Right, well, even if we do all of that, I don't think we're going to be able to bank on more than five minutes," said Hermione, looking relieved that Harry seemed to have accepted the plan, "not with Filch and the wretched Inquisitorial Squad floating around."

"Five minutes'll be enough," said Harry. "C'mon, let's go —"

"Now?" said Hermione, looking shocked.

"Of course now!" said Harry angrily. "What did you think, we're going to wait until after dinner or something? Hermione, Sirius is being tortured right now!"

"I — oh all right," she said desperately.

Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna all darted off down the halls for Umbridge's office. Once they reached the end of the corridor the huddled in a circle.

"All right," whispered Hermione as a gang of loud sixth years passed them. "So Ron — you and I will go and head Umbridge off. . . . Ginny, Luna, if you can start moving people out of the corridor. . . . Harry and Christina will wait until the coast is clear. . . .I'll see you soon . . ." Hermione and Ron strode away, his bright red hair visible right to the end of the passage. Meanwhile, Ginny's equally vivid head bobbed between the jostling students surrounding them in the other direction, trailed by Luna's blonde one.

"Get over here," muttered Christina, tugging at Harry's wrist and pulling him back into a recess where the ugly stone head of a medieval wizard stood muttering to itself on a column. "Are — are you sure you're okay, Harry? My scar started bleeding during the exam so I can only imagine-"

"I'm fine," he said shortly. They stood listening carefully over the Latin mumblings of the bust in front of them. "You can't come down here!" Ginny was calling to the crowd. "No, sorry, you're going to have to go round by the swiveling staircase, someone's let off Garroting Gas just along here —" They could hear people complaining; one surly voice said, "I can't see no gas . . ."

"That's because it's colorless," said Ginny in a convincingly exasperated voice, "but if you want to walk through it, carry on, then we'll have your body as proof for the next idiot who didn't believe us. . . ." Slowly the crowd thinned. The news about the Garroting Gas seemed to have spread — people were not coming this way anymore. When at last the surrounding area was quite clear, Christina said quietly, "I think that's as good as we're going to get, Harry — come on, let's do it." Harry nodded and Christina grabbed his wrist, turning them both to dust and let their atoms soar through the air and past Umbridge's door.

The garish kittens were basking in the late afternoon sunshine warming their plates, but otherwise the office was as still and empty as last time. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought she might have added extra security after the second niffler. . . ." Christina hurried over to the window and stood out of sight, peering down into the grounds with her wand out. Harry dashed over to the fireplace, seized the pot of Floo powder, and threw a pinch into the grate, causing emerald flames to burst into life there. He knelt down quickly, thrust his head into the dancing fire, and cried, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

Christina watched Harry's head disappear in the flames and watched him carefully.

"Can you see anything?" Christina said in a loud whisper.

"There's nobody here! Like I said!" said Harry annoyed. Christina was surprised and thankful she could hear Harry's voice but the effect was quite odd.

"Sirius?" he shouted. "Sirius, are you there?" Harry then paused. "Who's there? . . . .Where's Sirius, Kreacher?" Harry demanded.

"Where's he gone? Where's he gone, Kreacher? . . . I'm warning you!" said Harry, what on earth was happening? Sirius really was gone?

"What about Lupin? Mad-Eye? Any of them, are any of them here? . . . .Where has Sirius gone?" Harry yelled after the elf. "Kreacher, has he gone to the Department of Mysteries?" Christina listened intently but she could only hear one side of the conversation.

"But you know!" shouted Harry. "Don't you? You know where he is!" Just then the door burst open without warning and in came a red-faced and sweaty Professor Umbridge. Christina jumped behind the desk and ducked, for Umbridge had just thrown one of her kitten plates at her head . . . . . .

"You — !" Harry shouted from the fire to which Christina heard Umbridge grab him and drag him from the fireplace. Christina peered above the desk, wand in hand and watched Umbridge bend Harrys's neck back as far as it would go as though she was going to slit his throat.

"You think," she whispered, bending Harry's neck back even farther, so that he was looking up at the ceiling above him, "that after two nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy. Take his wand," she barked and Christina ducked under the desk again. She wished she could just use her natural powers and disappear but if Umbridge knew about her natural power then so did the Ministry, something neither she nor Dumbledore wanted.

"Hers too . . ." Christina waited and Millicent Bulstrode rushed over and peered under the desk ready to grab Christina but Christina kicked her square in the jaw and she fell back clutching her nose.

"Malfoy, help the poor girl!" Umbridge yelled over Millicent's cries. Christina smirked, ready to kick another person she didn't like in the face. Malfoy must've anticipated this and grabbed her legs and dragged her out from under the desk, Christina flailing. Christina went to hex him and Millicient grabbed the wand and wretched it from her hands while Malfoy tackled her to the ground, body on top of hers.

"Get off!" Christina yelled trying to squirm away. Malfoy pinned her arms down and used his full body weight to contain her.

"Not gonna trip me now are you, Babyskill?" he said oozing with chauvinism. Christina grimaced.

"You're already on the ground you idio-" but Malfoy had grabbed a fist full of her hair and slammed her head onto the stone floor. Her forehead ached but it didn't seem to do any more damage than a headache would.

"Some corporal punishment ought to do you good, Bataskill. I want to know why you two are in my office," said Umbridge. Christina couldn't see her nor Harry but assumed she must've had a knife to his throat by now.

"I was — trying to get my Firebolt!" Harry croaked.

"Liar. Your Firebolt is under strict guard in the dungeons, as you very well know, Potter. You had your head in my fire. With whom have you been communicating?"

"No one —" said Harry.

"Liar!" shouted Umbridge. Christina heard what she assumed was Harry slamming into the desk. Then there was a commotion outside and Christina peered up to see several large Slytherins entering, each gripping Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and — to Christina's bewilderment — Neville, who was trapped in a stranglehold by Crabbe and looked in imminent danger of suffocation. All five of them had been gagged.

"Got 'em all," said Warrington, shoving Ron roughly forward into the room. "That one." he poked a thick finger at Neville, "tried to stop me taking her," he pointed at Ginny, who was trying to kick the shins of the large Slytherin girl holding her, "so I brought him along too."

"Good, good," said Umbridge, watching Ginny's struggles. "Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?" Malfoy laughed loudly and sycophantically. Umbridge gave her wide, complacent smile and settled herself into a chintz-covered armchair, blinking up at her captives like a toad in a flowerbed.

"So, Potter," she said. "You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent these buffoons," she nodded at Hermione and Ron, and Malfoy laughed even louder, "to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department when I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on the eyepieces of all the school telescopes, Mr. Filch having just informed me so. Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone. . . ." Malfoy and a few of the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad laughed some more at that. Christina found she was so full of rage and hatred she almost couldn't contain her natural powers.

"It's none of your business who I talk to," he snarled.

"Very well," she said in her most dangerous and falsely sweet voice. "Very well, Mr. Potter . . . I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Bulstrode — fetch Professor Snape." Millicent stowed Christina's wand inside her robes and left the room pinching the bridge of her nose, but Christina hardly noticed. She had just realized something; she could not believe she had been so stupid as to forget it. She had thought that all the members of the Order, all those who could help him save Sirius, were gone — but she had been wrong. There was still a member of the Order of the Phoenix at Hogwarts — Snape. There was silence in the office except for the fidgetings and scufflings resultant from the Slytherins' efforts to keep Ron and the others under control. Ron's lip was bleeding onto Umbridge's carpet as he struggled against Warrington's half nelson. Ginny was still trying to stamp on the feet of the sixth-year girl who had both her upper arms in a tight grip. Neville was turning steadily more purple in the face while tugging at Crabbe's arms, and Hermione was attempting vainly to throw Goyle off her. Luna, however, stood limply by the side of her captor, gazing vaguely out of the window as though rather bored by the proceedings. Christina would occasionally try to throw Malfoy off of her, perhaps taking him by surprise but he was uncharacteristically strong and she remained captive. Finally, Millicent Bulstrode came back into the room, holding open the door for Snape.

"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?" said Snape, looking around at all the pairs of struggling students with an expression of complete indifference.

"Ah, Professor Snape," said Umbridge, smiling widely and standing up again. "Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please."

"You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter," he said, observing her coolly through his greasy curtains of black hair. "Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient." Umbridge flushed.

"You can make some more, can't you?" she said, her voice becoming more sweetly girlish as it always did when she was furious.

"Certainly," said Snape, his lip curling. "It takes a full moon cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month."

"A month?" squawked Umbridge, swelling toadishly. "A month? But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!"

"Really?" said Snape, showing his first, faint sign of interest as he looked around at Harry. "Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules."

"I wish to interrogate him! I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!"

"I have already told you," said Snape smoothly, "that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter — and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did — I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling. . . ." Christina tried desperately to communicate with Snape but Malfoy was now pressed her mouth down onto the dusty stone cold floor.

"You are on probation!" shrieked Professor Umbridge, and Snape looked back at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. "You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!" Snape gave her an ironic bow and turned to leave. Christina knew her last chance of letting the Order know what was going on was walking out of the door. It was now or never. She turned half her body to dust and reassembled it the second she was out from under Malfoy.

"He's got Padfoot!" she shouted, moving away from a now scrambling Draco Malfoy. "He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!" Snape had stopped with his hand on Umbridge's door handle. Malfoy grabbed Christina's neck and jaw with one hand and raised a fist in the area, ready to strike.

"Padfoot?" cried Professor Umbridge, looking eagerly from Christina to Snape. Malfoy froze. "What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does she mean, Snape?" Snape looked around at Christina. His face was inscrutable. Christina could not tell whether he had understood or not, but she did not dare speak more plainly in front of Umbridge.

"I have no idea," said Snape coldly. "Bataskill, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little, if Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork, and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job." He closed the door behind him with a snap, leaving Christina in a state of worse turmoil than before: Snape had been her very last hope. She should've known not to trust him. Christina looked at Umbridge, who seemed to be feeling the same way; her chest was heaving with rage and frustration.

"Very well," she said, and she pulled out her wand. "Very well . . . I am left with no alternative. . . . This is more than a matter of school discipline. . . . This is an issue of Ministry security. . . . Yes . . . yes . . ." She seemed to be talking herself into something. She was shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot, staring at Harry, beating her wand against her empty palm and breathing heavily.

"You are forcing me, Potter. . . . I do not want to," said Umbridge, still moving restlessly on the spot, "but sometimes circumstances justify the use . . . I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice. . . ." Malfoy was watching her with a hungry expression on his face.

"The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue," said Umbridge quietly.

"No!" shrieked Hermione. "Professor Umbridge — it's illegal" — but Umbridge took no notice. There was a nasty, eager, excited look on her face that Christina had never seen before. She raised her wand.

"The Minister wouldn't want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!" cried Hermione.

"What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him," said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she pointed her wand at different parts of Harry's body in turn, apparently trying to decide what would hurt the most. Christina then caught Hermione's eye who seemed to be begging Christina to help him . . . but what could she do without Umbridge finding out about her natural powers? Or was now the time to let her know . . . "He never knew I ordered dementors after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same. . . ."

"It was you?" gasped Harry. "You sent the dementors after me?"

"Somebody had to act," breathed Umbridge, as her wand came to rest pointing directly at Harry's forehead. "They were all bleating about silencing you two somehow — discrediting you — but I was the one who actually did something about it. . . . Miracle Bataskill decided to visit . . . can't sit still can you girl? Don't worry, your mother was the same noncommittal waste. Wriggling out of any sort of trouble, don't you, two? Not today, though, not now . . ." And taking a deep breath, she cried, "Cruc —"

"NO!" shouted Hermione in a cracked voice from behind Millicent Bulstrode. "No — Harry — Christina, we'll have to tell her!"

"No way!" yelled Christina, and Malfoy finally released his punch and Christina's head connected with the stone wall behind her and stars and white light burst into her vision. She fell, dizzy and fazed.

Christina heard Hermione begin to cry weakly as Malfoy once again engulfed Christina in a vice-like grip.

"Well, well, well!" said Umbridge, looking triumphant. "Little Miss Question-All is going to give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!"

"Er — my — nee — no!" shouted Ron through his gag. Ginny was staring at Hermione as though she had never seen her before; Neville, still choking for breath, was gazing at her too.

"I'm — I'm sorry everyone," said Hermione. "But — I can't stand it —"

"That's right, that's right, girl!" said Umbridge, seizing Hermione by the shoulders, thrusting her into the abandoned chintz chair and leaning over her. "Now then . . . with whom was Potter communicating just now?"

"Well," gulped Hermione into her hands, "well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore. . . ." Ron froze, his eyes wide; Ginny stopped trying to stamp on her Slytherin captor's toes; even Luna looked mildly surprised. Fortunately, the attention of Umbridge and her minions was focused too exclusively upon Hermione to notice these suspicious signs.

"Dumbledore?" said Umbridge eagerly. "You know where Dumbledore is, then?"

"Well . . . no!" sobbed Hermione. "We've tried the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley and the Three Broomsticks and even the Hog's Head —"

"Idiot girl, Dumbledore won't be sitting in a pub when the whole Ministry's looking for him!" shouted Umbridge, disappointment etched in every sagging line of her face.

"But — but we needed to tell him something important!" wailed Hermione, holding her hands more tightly over her face.

"Yes?" said Umbridge with a sudden resurgence of excitement. "What was it you wanted to tell him?"

"We . . . we wanted to tell him it's r-ready!" choked Hermione.

"What's ready?" demanded Umbridge, and now she grabbed Hermione's shoulders again and shook her slightly. "What's ready, girl?"

"The . . . the weapon," said Hermione.

"Weapon? Weapon?" said Umbridge, and her eyes seemed to pop with excitement. "You have been developing some method of resistance? A weapon you could use against the Ministry? On Professor Dumbledore's orders, of course?"

"Y-y-yes," gasped Hermione. "But he had to leave before it was finished and n-n-now we've finished it for him, and we c-c-can't find him t-t-to tell him!"

"What kind of weapon is it?" said Umbridge harshly, her stubby hands still tight on Hermione's shoulders.

"We don't r-r-really understand it," said Hermione, sniffing loudly. "We j-j-just did what P-P-Professor Dumbledore told us t-t-to do . . ." Umbridge straightened up, looking exultant.

"Lead me to the weapon," she said.

"I'm not showing . . . them," said Hermione shrilly, looking around at the Slytherins through her fingers.

"It is not for you to set conditions," said Professor Umbridge harshly.

"Fine," said Hermione, now sobbing into her hands again, "fine . . . let them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you'd invite loads and loads of people to come and see! Th-that would serve you right — oh, I'd love it if the wh-whole school knew where it was, and how to u-use it, and then if you annoy any of them they'll be able to s-sort you out!" These words had a powerful impact on Umbridge. She glanced swiftly and suspiciously around at her Inquisitorial Squad, her bulging eyes resting for a moment on Malfoy, who was too slow to disguise the look of eagerness and greed that had appeared on his face. Umbridge contemplated Hermione for another long moment and then spoke in what she clearly thought was a motherly voice.

"All right, dear, let's make it just you and me . . . and we'll take Potter too, shall we? Get up, now —"

"Professor," said Malfoy eagerly, "Professor Umbridge, I think some of the squad should come with you to look after —"

"I am a fully qualified Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage two wandless kids alone?" asked Umbridge sharply. "In any case, it does not sound as though this weapon is something that schoolchildren should see. You will remain here until I return and make sure none of these" — she gestured around at Christina, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna — "escape."

"All right," said Malfoy, looking sulky and disappointed. "And you two can go ahead of me and show me the way," said Umbridge, pointing at Harry and Hermione with her wand.

"Lead on. . . ."


	33. Chapter 33: The Dream Synopsis

Harry, Hermione and Umbridge were gone and the grips of the Slytherins all got a little tighter. Christina had to think, no one had their wands if she could only just-

"I say we do this," Malfoy started, "why not beat Weasel king within an inch of his life so he can join McGonagall at St. Mungo's . . . then perhaps Longbottom?"

"Oh that's a wonderful plan, Malfoy. Let me go, and then go beat everyone up. Really intelligent." Christina said sarcastically as Malfoy's fingers started digging into her neck, she felt light headed. Christina looked up at Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna and tried to see where their wands were being kept . . . she morphed a hand from the stone under the desk and had it fly to Millicent's robes and snatched back her wand carefully and let the hand with the wand soar back to under the desk. There was no way Christina could place the wand in her hand without being noticed . . . Christina lifted the wand with the stone hand again but instead of trying to grab her wand she placed it in Ginny's hands. Almost immediately she hexed the 6th year's head that was holding her and then sent a Bat-Bogey hex at Malfoy as Christina ducked. Malfoy rolled off her as Christina heard Ginny shout more hexes. Christina looked up and saw Ginny tossing her her wand. She grabbed it and turned to Malfoy who was clutching his face with embarrassment.

"Incarcerous!" Christina yelled. Ropes flew out of midair like thick snakes, wrapping themselves tightly around Malfoy's torso and arms holding him down. Christina turned to the others and saw Crabbe frozen on the ground, Neville with a large purple lump over his right eye taking Luna away from the now bleeding Slytherin captor of hers, Ginny was now fist-fighting her 6th year captor, and Ron and Warrington were squaring off, ready to stun one another.

"Stupefy!" Ron shouted first and Warrington fell back into the wall and his head snapped back into the stone. He fell to the floor in a heap.

"Let's go!" Ron yelled and lead the group out of Umbridge's office.

"But where are we going!?" Christina yelled ahead to Ron. But Ron didn't say anything he just led them right out the castle's front door and out onto the foot-bridge. Of course! Hermione would have wanted us to have the most time as possible so she would have to travel the farthest . . . the Forbidden Forest! They sprinted for another 15 minutes down the field and past Hagrid's hut into the forest when they started hearing yelling. Just then Harry and Hermione, drenched in blood starting running at them as well.

"Anyway, Harry, how exactly were you planning to get all the way to London?" Christina heard Hermione say.

"Yeah, we were just wondering that." Said Christina. Harry and Hermione jumped at the voice and then ran towards them to meet up.

"So," said Ron, pushing aside a low-hanging branch and holding out Harry's wand, "had any ideas?"

"How did you get away?" asked Harry in amazement, taking his wand from Ron.

"Couple of Stunners, a Disarming Charm, Neville brought off a really nice little Impediment Jinx," said Ron airily, now handing back Hermione's wand too.

"But Ginny was best, she got Malfoy — Bat-Bogey Hex — it was superb, his whole face was covered in the great flapping things. Anyway, we saw you heading into the forest out of the window and followed. What've you done with Umbridge?"

"She got carried away," said Harry. "By a herd of centaurs." Christina goggled at them.

"And they left you behind?" asked Ginny, looking astonished.

"No, they got chased off by Grawp," said Harry.

"Who's Grawp?" Luna asked interestedly.

"Hagrid's little brother," said Ron promptly. "Anyway, never mind that now. Harry, what did you find out in the fire? Has You-Know-Who got Sirius or — ?"

"Yes," said Harry, Christina's stomach lurched, "and I'm sure Sirius is still alive, but I can't see how we're going to get there to help him." They all fell silent, looking rather scared. The problem facing them seemed insurmountable.

"Well, we'll have to fly, won't we?" said Luna in the closest thing to a matter-of-fact voice Christina had ever heard her use.

"Okay," said Harry irritably, rounding on her, "first of all, 'we' aren't doing anything if you're including yourself in that, and second of all, Ron's the only one with a broomstick that isn't being guarded by a security troll, so —"

"I've got a broom!" said Ginny.

"Yeah, but you're not coming," said Ron angrily.

"Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!" said Ginny, her jaw set so that her resemblance to Fred and George was suddenly striking.

"You're too —" Harry began.

"I'm three years older than you were when you fought You-Know-Who over the Sorcerer's Stone," she said fiercely.

"Yeah, but —"

"We were all in the D.A. together," said Neville quietly. "It was all supposed to be about fighting You-Know-Who, wasn't it? And this is the first chance we've had to do something real — or was that all just a game or something?"

"No — of course it wasn't —" said Christina impatiently.

"Then we should come too," said Neville simply. "We want to help."

"That's right," said Luna, smiling happily. Christina's eyes met Harry's. She knew that Harry was thinking exactly what she was: If she could have chosen any members of the D.A. in addition to herself, Harry, Ron, and Hermione to join him in the attempt to rescue Sirius, he would not have picked Ginny, Neville, or Luna.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway," said Harry frustratedly, "because we still don't know how to get there —"

"I thought we'd settled that?" said Luna maddeningly. "We're flying!"

"Look," said Ron, barely containing his anger, "you might be able to fly without a broomstick but the rest of us can't sprout wings whenever we —"

"There are other ways of flying than with broomsticks," said Luna serenely.

"I s'pose we're going to ride on the back of the Kacky Snorgle or whatever it is?" Ron demanded.

"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack can't fly," said Luna in a dignified voice, "but they can, and Hagrid says they're very good at finding places their riders are looking for." Christina whirled around. Standing between two trees, their white eyes gleaming eerily, were two thestrals, watching the whispered conversation as though they understood every word.

"Yes!" she whispered, moving toward them. They tossed their reptilian heads, throwing back long black manes, and Christina stretched out her hand eagerly and patted the nearest one's shining neck. How could she ever have thought them ugly?

"Is it those mad horse things?" said Ron uncertainly, staring at a point slightly to the left of the thestral Christina was patting. "Those ones you can't see unless you've watched someone snuff it?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "How many?"

"Just two."

"Well, we need three," said Hermione, who was still looking a little shaken, but determined just the same.

"Four, Hermione," said Ginny, scowling.

"I think there are six of us, actually," said Luna calmly, counting.

"Don't be stupid, we can't all go!" said Harry angrily. "Look, you three" — he pointed at Neville, Ginny, and Luna — "you're not involved in this, you're not —" They burst into more protests. And Christina saw Harry press a finger to his scar and looked down at her own, bleeding again.

"We don't have time, just come now!" Christina yelled, "We've got to find more thestrals or you're not going to be able —"

"Oh, more of them will come," said Ginny confidently, who like Ron was squinting in quite the wrong direction, apparently under the impression that she was looking at the horses.

"What makes you think that?"

"Because in case you hadn't noticed, you and Hermione are both covered in blood," she said coolly, "and we know Hagrid lures thestrals with raw meat, so that's probably why these two turned up in the first place. . . ." Christina looked over to Harry who had a thestral licking his sleeve, which was damp with Grawp's blood.

"Okay, then," he said. "Ron and I will take these two and go ahead, Christina you can fly yourself and Hermione can stay here with you three and she'll attract more thestrals —"

"I'm not staying behind!" said Hermione furiously.

"There's no need," said Luna, smiling. "Look, here come more now. . . . You two must really smell. . . ." Christina turned. No fewer than six or seven thestrals were picking their way through the trees now, their great leathery wings folded tight to their bodies, their eyes gleaming through the darkness.

"All right," he said angrily, "pick one and get on, then."

"I'm sorry, but what did you mean Christina would fly?" Luna asked genuinely interested. There was no way Christina couldn't tell her, so she just tried to explain as quickly as possible while the others mounted their thestrals.

"I've got natural energy and powers, I'm apparently related to one centuries ago . . . so I can control the earth beneath me and all the dust particles in the air so-"

"Oh, I understand." Luna said cutting her off. Christina wasn't entirely convinced but didn't care. Sirius was in the Department of Mysteries being tortured. Christina could lose another family member, and she wasn't going to let that happen. Christina turned to see Ron, Hermione and Ginny standing motionless on the spot, open-mouthed and staring.

"What?" Harry asked.

"How're we supposed to get on?" said Ron faintly. "When we can't see the things?"

"Oh it's easy" said Luna sliding obligingly from her thestral and marching over to him, Hermione and Ginny. "Come here . . ."

She pulled them over to the other thestrals standing around and one by one managed to help them on to the back of their mount. All three looed extremely nervous as she wound their hands into the horse's mane and told them to grip tightly before she get back on to her own steed.

"This is mad" Ron murmured, moving his free hand gingerly up and down his horse's neck. "Mad . . . if I could just see it-"

"You'd better hope it stays invisible" said Christina darkly. "We all ready, then?"

They all nodded and she saw five pairs of knees tighten beneath their robes.

"OK … " Christina turned to Harry who patted the back of his thestral.

"Ministry of Magic, visitors' entrance, London, then" he said uncertainly. "Er . . . if you know . . . where to go . . ."

For a moment Harry's thestral did nothing at all; then, with a sweeping movement that nearly unseated him, the wings on either side extended; the horse crouched slowly, then rocketed upwards so fast and so steeply that it was difficult for Christina to catch up. But nonetheless, she lifted the caked mud from underneath her trainors and zoomed up to meet them.

Christina did not think she had ever moved so fast: they steaked over the castle, the cooling air was slapping Christina's face; eyes screw up against the rushing wind, she looked round and saw her six fellows soaring along with her, each of them bent as ow as possible into the neck of their thestral to protect themselves from Harry's slipstream.

They were over the Hogwarts grounds, they had passed Hogsmeade; Christina could see mountains and gullies below them. As the daylight began to fail, Christina saw small collections of lights as they passed over more villages, then a winding road on which a single car was beetling its way home through the hills . . .

"This is bizarre!" Christina barely heard Ron yell from somewhere behind her, and she imagined how it must feel to be speeding along at this height with no visible means of support.

Twilight fell: the sky was turning to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars, and soon only the lights of Muggle towns gave them any clue of how far from the ground they were, or how very fast they were travelling. How much time had elapsed since Harry had seen Sirius in the Department of Mysteries? How much longer would Sirius be able to resist Voldemort? All Christina knew for sure was that her father had neither done as Voldemort wanted, nor died, for she was convinced that either outcome would have caused her to feel Voldemort's jubilation or fury course through her own body, making her scar explode probably.

On they flew through the fathering darkness; Christina's face felt stuff and cold, she was deaf from the thundering rush of air in her ears, and her mouth was dry and frozen from the cold night wind. She had lost all sense of how far they had come; all her faith was in the beast in front of her, still streaking purposefully though the night, barely flapping its wings as it sped ever onwards.

If they were too late. . .

He's still _alive, he's still fighting, I just know it . . ._

If Voldemort decided Sirius was not going to crack . . .

 _I'd know . . . Harry would know . . ._

Harry's horse started descending and Christina flew down with him. Bright orange lights were now growing larger and rounder on all sides; they could see the tops of buildings, streams of headlights like luminous insect eyes, squares of pale yellow that were windows. The thestrals landed and Christina with them, they stood a short way from the vandalized telephone box, both drained of colour in the flat orange flare of the streetlights.

"Never again" Ron said, struggling to his feet. He made as though to stride away from his thestral, but, unable to see it, collided with its hindquarters and almost fell over again. "Never, ever again . . . that was the worst –"

"Where do we go from here, then?" Luna asked Harry in a politely interested voice, as though this was all a rather interesting day-trip.

"Over here" he said. He gave his thestral a quick, grateful pat, then led the way quickly to the battered telephone box and opened the door. "Come on!" he urged the others, as they hesitated.

Ron and Ginny marched in obediently; Hermione, Neville and Luna squashed themselves in after them; Christina took one glance back at the thestrals, now foraging for scraps of rotten food inside the skip, then forced herself into the box after Luna.

"Whoever's nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two!" she said.

Ron did it, his arm bent bizarrely to reach the dial; as it whirred back into place the cool female voice sounded inside the box.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business"

"Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Christina Bataskill, "Harry said very quickly, "Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood… we're here to save someone, unless your Minstry can do it first!"

"Thank you" said the cool female voice. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes."

Seven badges slid out of the metal chute where returned coins normally appeared. Hermione scooped them up and handed them mutely to Harry over Ginny's head; Christina glanced at the topmost one.

Christina Bataskill

Rescue Mission

"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

"Fine!" Harry said loudly, "Now can we move?"

The floor of the telephone box shuddered and the pavement rose up past the glass windows of the telephone box. The scavenging thestrals were sliding out of sight, blackness closed over their heads, and with a dull grinding noise they sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic. A chink of soft golden light hit their feet and, widening, rose up their bodies. Christina bent her knees and held her wand as ready as she could in such cramped conditions, peering through the glass to see whether anybody was waiting for them in the Atrium, but it seemed to be completely empty. The light was dimmer than it had been by day. There were no fires burning under the mantelpieces set into the walls, but she saw as the lift slid smoothly to a halt that golden symbols continued to twist sinuously in the dark blue ceiling.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening," said the woman's voice. The door of the telephone box burst open; Christina toppled out of it, followed by Harry and Neville. The only sound in the Atrium was the steady rush of water from the golden fountain, where jets from the wands of the witch and wizard, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and the house-elf's ears continued to gush into the surrounding pool.

"Come on," said Harry quietly and the seven of them sprinted off down the hall, Harry in the lead, past the fountain, toward the desk where the security man who had weighed Christina's wand had sat and which was now deserted. Christina felt sure that there ought to be a security person there, sure that their absence was an ominous sign, and her feeling of foreboding increased as they passed through the golden gates to the lifts.

She pressed the nearest down button and a lift clattered into sight almost immediately, the golden grilles slid apart with a great, echoing clanking, and they dashed inside. Harry stabbed the number nine button, the grilles closed with a bang, and the lift began to descend, jangling and rattling. Christina had not realized how noisy the lifts were on the day that she had come with Harry and Mr. Weasley — she was sure that the din would raise every security person within the building, yet when the lift halted, the cool female voice said, "Department of Mysteries," and the grilles slid open again, they stepped out into the corridor where nothing was moving but the nearest torches, flickering in the rush of air from the lift.

Christina turned toward the plain black door. After months and months of dreaming about it, she was here at last. . . .

"Let's go," she whispered, and she led the way down the corridor floating along instead of walking, Luna right behind her, gazing at the gap between Christina's feet and the floor with her mouth slightly open.

"Okay, listen," said Harry, stopping again within six feet of the door. "Maybe . . . maybe a couple of people should stay here as a — as a lookout, and —"

"And how're we going to let you know something's coming?" asked Ginny, her eyebrows raised. "You could be miles away."

"We're coming with you, Harry," said Neville.

"Let's get on with it," said Ron firmly. Harry seemed to still did not want to take them all with him, but he had no choice. He turned to face the door and walked forward. Just as it had in Christina's dreams, it swung open and she marched forward with Harry, leading the others over the threshold. They were standing in a large, circular room. Everything in here was black including the floor and ceiling — identical, unmarked, handle-less black doors were set at intervals all around the black walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue, their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor so that it looked as though there was dark water underfoot.

"Someone shut the door," Harry muttered. Christina regretted this the moment Neville had obeyed it. Without the long chink of light from the torch-lit corridor behind them, the place became so dark that for a moment the only things they could see were the bunches of shivering blue flames on the walls and their ghostly reflections in the floor below. In Christina's dream, she had always walked purposefully across this room to the door immediately opposite the entrance and walked on. But there were around a dozen doors here.

Just as she was gazing ahead at the doors opposite her, trying to decide which was the right one, there was a great rumbling noise and the candles began to move sideways. The circular wall was rotating. For a few seconds the blue flames around them were blurred to resemble neon lines as the wall sped around and then, quite as suddenly as it had started, the rumbling stopped and everything became stationary once again. Christina's eyes had blue streaks burned into them; it was all she could see.

"What was that about?" whispered Ron fearfully.

"I think it was to stop us knowing which door we came in from," said Ginny in a hushed voice. Christina realized at once that she was right: Christina could no sooner have picked the exit from the other doors than located an ant upon the jetblack floor. Meanwhile, the door through which they needed to proceed could be any of the dozen surrounding them.

"How're we going to get back out?" said Neville uncomfortably.

"Well, that doesn't matter now," said Harry forcefully. Christina blinked to try and erase the blue lines from her vision, and clutched her wand tighter than ever.

"We won't need to get out till we've found Sirius —" she started.

"Don't go calling for him, though!" Hermione said urgently, but Christina had never needed her advice less; her instinct was to keep as quiet as possible for the time being.

"Where do we go, then, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I don't —" Harry began. He swallowed. "In the dreams I went through the door at the end of the corridor from the lifts into a dark room — that's this one — and then I went through another door into a room that kind of . . . glitters. We should try a few doors," he said hastily. "I'll know the right way when I see it. C'mon." He marched straight at the door now facing him, Christina and the others following close behind him, set his left hand against its cool, shining surface, raised his wand, ready to strike the moment it opened, and pushed.

It swung open easily. After the darkness of the first room, the lamps hanging low on golden chains from this ceiling gave the impression that this long rectangular room was much brighter, though there were no glittering, shimmering lights such as Christina had seen in her dreams.

The place was quite empty except for a few desks and, in the very middle of the room, an enormous glass tank of deep-green water, big enough for all of them to swim in, which contained a number of pearly white objects that were drifting around lazily in the liquid.

"What're those things?" whispered Ron.

"Dunno," said Harry.

"Are they fish?" breathed Ginny.

"Aquavirius maggots!" said Luna excitedly. "Dad said the Ministry were breeding —"

"No," said Hermione. She sounded odd. She moved forward to look through the side of the tank. "They're brains."

"Brains?"

"Yes . . . I wonder what they're doing with them?" Christina joined her at the tank. Sure enough, there could be no mistake now that she saw them at close quarters. Glimmering eerily they drifted in and out of sight in the depths of the green water, looking something like slimy cauliflowers.

"Let's get out of here," said Harry. "This isn't right, we need to try another door —"

"There are doors here too," said Ron, pointing around the walls. Christina's heart sank; how big was this place?

"In my dream I went through that dark room into the second one," she said. "I think we should go back and try from there." So they hurried back into the dark, circular room; the ghostly shapes of the brains were now swimming before Christina's eyes instead of the blue candle flames.

"Wait!" said Hermione sharply, as Luna made to close the door of the brain room behind them. "Flagrate!" She drew with her wand in midair and a fiery X appeared on the door. No sooner had the door clicked shut behind them than there was a great rumbling, and once again the wall began to revolve very fast, but now there was a great red-gold blur in amongst the faint blue, and when all became still again, the fiery cross still burned, showing the door they had already tried.

"Good thinking," said Harry. "Okay, let's try this one —" Again he strode directly at the door facing him and pushed it open, his wand still raised, Christina and the others at his heels. This room was larger than the last, dimly lit and rectangular, and the center of it was sunken, forming a great stone pit some twenty feet below them. They were standing on the topmost tier of what seemed to be stone benches running all around the room and descending in steep steps like an amphitheater, or the courtroom in which Christina and Harry had been tried by the Wizengamot. Instead of a chained chair, however, there was a raised stone dais in the center of the lowered floor, and upon this dais stood a stone archway that looked so ancient, cracked, and crumbling that Christina was amazed the thing was still standing. Unsupported by any surrounding wall, the archway was hung with a tattered black curtain or veil which, despite the complete stillness of the cold surrounding air, was fluttering very slightly as though it had just been touched.

"Who's there?" said Harry, jumping down onto the bench below. There was no answering voice, but the veil continued to flutter and sway. Christina felt uneasy and grabbed Harry's arm.

"Careful!" whispered Christina. Christina and Harry scrambled down the benches one by one until they reached the stone bottom of the sunken pit. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they walked slowly toward the dais. The pointed archway looked much taller from where they stood now than when they had been looking down on it from above. Still the veil swayed gently, as though somebody had just passed through it.

"Sirius?" Harry spoke again, but much more quietly now that he was nearer. Christina had the strangest feeling that there was someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway. Gripping her wand very tightly, she let go of Harry and edged around the dais, but there was nobody there. All that could be seen was the other side of the tattered black veil.

"Let's go," called Hermione from halfway up the stone steps. "This isn't right, come on, let's go. . . ." She sounded scared, much more scared than she had in the room where the brains swam, yet Christina thought the archway had a kind of beauty about it, old though it was. The gently rippling veil intrigued her; she felt a very strong inclination to climb up on the dais and walk through it.

"Let's go, okay?" said Hermione more forcefully.

"Okay," Harry said, but Christina did not move. She had just heard something. There was faint whispering, murmuring noises coming from the other side of the veil.

"What are you saying?" she said very loudly, so that the words echoed all around the surrounding stone benches.

"Nobody's talking, Christina!" said Hermione, now moving over to them.

"Someone's whispering behind there," she said, moving out of Hermione's reach and continuing to frown at the veil.

"Is that you, Ron?" Harry said, now listening intently to the veil.

"I'm here, mate," said Ron, appearing around the side of the archway.

"Can't anyone else hear it?" Christina demanded, for the whispering and murmuring was becoming louder; without really meaning to put it there, she found her foot was on the dais.

"I can hear them too," breathed Luna, joining them around the side of the archway and gazing at the swaying veil. "There are people in there!"

"What do you mean, 'in there'?" demanded Hermione, jumping down from the bottom step and sounding much angrier than the occasion warranted. "There isn't any 'in there,' it's just an archway, there's no room for anybody to be there — Christina, stop it, come away —" She grabbed Christina's arm and pulled, but she resisted. "Christina, we are supposed to be here for Sirius!" she said in a high-pitched, strained voice.

"Sirius," Harry repeated, still gazing, mesmerized, at the continuously swaying veil. "Yeah . . ." And then something slid back into place in Christina's brain: Sirius, captured, bound, and tortured, and she was staring at this archway. . . . She took several paces back from the dais and wrenched her eyes from the veil.

"Let's go," she said.

"That's what I've been trying to — well, come on, then!" said Hermione, and she led the way back around the dais. On the other side, Ginny and Neville were staring, apparently entranced, at the veil too. Without speaking, Hermione took hold of Ginny's arm, Ron, Neville's, and they marched them firmly back to the lowest stone bench and clambered all the way back up to the door.

"What d'you reckon that arch was?" Harry asked Hermione as they regained the dark circular room.

"I don't know, but whatever it was, it was dangerous," she said firmly, again inscribing a fiery cross upon the door. Once more the wall spun and became still again. Harry approached a door at random and pushed. It did not move.

"What's wrong?" said Hermione.

"It's . . . locked . . ." said Harry, throwing his weight at the door, but it did not budge.

"This is it, then, isn't it?" said Ron excitedly, joining Harry in the attempt to force the door open. "Bound to be!"

"Get out of the way!" said Hermione sharply. She pointed her wand at the place where a lock would have been on an ordinary door and said, "Alohomora!" Nothing happened.

"Sirius's knife!" said Harry, and he pulled it out from inside his robes and slid it into the crack between the door and the wall. The others all watched eagerly as he ran it from top to bottom, withdrew it, and then flung his shoulder again at the door. It remained as firmly shut as ever. What was more, when Christina looked over at the knife, she saw that the blade had melted.

"Let me try" Christina said and moved in front of it, she went to tear apart the door with her natural powers but the fibers of the door seemed to remain still.

"Right, we're leaving that room," said Hermione decisively.

"But what if that's the one?" said Ron, staring at it with a mixture of apprehension and longing.

"It can't be, Harry and Christina could get through all the doors in their dreams," said Hermione, marking the door with another fiery cross as Harry replaced the now-useless handle of Sirius's knife in his pocket.

"You know what could be in there?" said Luna eagerly, as the wall started to spin yet again.

"Something blibbering, no doubt," said Hermione under her breath, and Neville gave a nervous little laugh. The wall slid back to a halt and Christina, with a feeling of increasing desperation, pushed the next door open.

"This is it!" She knew it at once by the beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light. As Christina's eyes became more accustomed to the brilliant glare she saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room.

"This way!" Christina's heart was pumping frantically now that she knew they were on the right track. She led the way forward down the narrow space between the lines of the desks, heading, as she had done in her dream, for the source of the light, the crystal bell jar quite as tall as she was that stood on a desk and appeared to be full of a billowing, glittering wind.

"Oh look !" said Ginny, as they drew nearer, pointing at the very heart of the bell jar. Drifting along in the sparkling current inside was a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As it rose in the jar it cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell on the draft, its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in its egg.

"Keep going!" said Harry sharply, because Ginny showed signs of wanting to stop and watch the egg's progress back into a bird.

"You dawdled enough by that old arch!" she said crossly, but followed him past the bell jar to the only door behind it.

"This is it," Harry said now on the same page as Christina, and her heart was now pumping so hard and fast she felt it must interfere with her speech. "It's through here —" She glanced around at them all. They had their wands out and looked suddenly serious and anxious. She looked back at the door and pushed. It swung open. They were there, they had found the place: high as a church and full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from more candle brackets set at intervals along the shelves. Like those in the circular room behind them, their flames were burning blue. The room was very cold.

As Harry edged forward Christina scanned the room, felt every molecule searching for another person, searching for anyone but only felt the footsteps of the six people around her.

"No one's here, Harry." She said. The words echoed around the shelves but Harry seemed to not have heard her.

"How do you know? You said it was row ninety-seven," whispered Hermione.

"Yeah," breathed Harry, looking up at the end of the closest row. Beneath the branch of blue-glowing candles protruding from it glimmered the silver figure 53.

"We need to go right, I think," whispered Hermione, squinting to the next row. "Yes . . . that's fifty-four. . . ."

"Keep your wands out," Harry said softly.

"Harry, I did a check for anyone else in this room, there's no one but shelves…" again, he ignored Christina.

They crept forward, staring behind them as they went on down the long alleys of shelves, the farther ends of which were in near total darkness. Tiny, yellowing labels had been stuck beneath each glass orb on the shelf. Some of them had a weird, liquid glow; others were as dull and dark within as blown lightbulbs. They passed row eighty-four . . . eighty-five . . .

"Harry! No one is here! He's either gone or was never-"

"HE'S HERE!" Harry yelled back while rushing through the aisles now.

"Ninety-seven!" whispered Hermione. They stood grouped around the end of the row, gazing down the alley beside it. There was nobody there.

"He's right down at the end," said Harry. "You can't see properly from here. . . ." And he led them forward, between the towering rows of glass balls, some of which glowed softly as they passed. . . .

"He should be near here," whispered Harry, convinced that every step was going to bring the ragged form of Sirius into view upon the darkened floor. "Anywhere here . . . really close . . ."

"Harry?" said Hermione tentatively, but he did not respond.

"Somewhere about . . . here . . ." he said. Christina was getting angry now, he had wasted their time, they could no longer return to Hogwarts for their Headmistress had just been chased off by centaurs thanks to Harry and Hermione's efforts. Christina trusted Harry and he was wrong.

They had reached the end of the row and emerged into more dim candlelight. There was nobody there at all. All was echoing, dusty silence.

"He might be . . ." Harry whispered hoarsely, peering down the alley next door. "Or maybe . . ." He hurried to look down the one beyond that.

"Harry?" said Hermione again.

"What?" he snarled.

"I . . . I don't think Sirius is here." Nobody spoke. Harry did not look at any of them. Christina could have cursed him, not only did he drag Christina, Hermione and Ron into this but now Ginny, Neville and Luna would surely be expelled and have to explain to their parents that Harry Potter led them on a wild goose chase to the Ministry of Magic.

Harry ran up the space at the end of the rows, staring down them. Empty aisle after empty aisle flickered past. He ran the other way, back past his staring companions. There was no sign of Sirius anywhere, nor any hint of a struggle. Christina turned to see Ron and Neville staring at one of the orbs, she walked up and saw in tiny handwriting:

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D

Dark Lord

And (?) Harry Potter

"Harry?" Ron called.

"What?"

"Have you seen this?" said Ron. Christina looked around at the other glass orbs to see if one had her name on it but she couldn't seem to find one . . .

"What?" said Harry, but eagerly this time; he strode back to where they were all standing, a little way down row ninety-seven, but found nothing except Ron staring at one of the dusty glass spheres on the shelves.

"What?" Harry repeated glumly.

"It's — it's got your name on," said Christina. Harry moved a little closer. Ron was pointing at one of the small glass spheres that glowed with a dull inner light, though it was very dusty and appeared not to have been touched for many years.

"My name?" said Harry blankly. He stepped forward and read.

"What is it?" Ron asked, sounding unnerved. "What's your name doing down here?" He glanced along at the other labels on that stretch of shelf.

"I'm not here," he said, sounding perplexed. "None of the rest of us are here. . . ."

"Harry, I don't think you should touch it," said Hermione sharply, as he stretched out his hand.

"Why not?" he said. "It's something to do with me, isn't it?" Just then Christina, who was now constantly scanning for other bodies in the room felt two feet hit the floor.

"Wait-" she said, holding up an arm as if to stop him.

"Don't, Harry," said Neville suddenly. Christina looked around at him. Neville's round face was shining slightly with sweat. He looked as though he could not take much more suspense.

"It's got my name on," said Harry. Christina walked over to where the feet were standing but as she moved the feet disappeared. She looked over to Hermione but she didn't seem to hear anything . . .

Then Christina saw Harry close his fingers around the dusty ball's surface; She had expected that something dramatic was going to happen, something exciting that might make their long and dangerous journey worthwhile after all, he lifted the glass ball down from its shelf and stared at it. Nothing whatsoever happened. The others moved in closer around Harry, gazing at the orb as he brushed it free of the clogging dust. The feet returned and Christina whipped around and pointed her lit wand at the dark figure that was Lucius Malfoy.

"Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."


	34. Chapter 34: Fading

Black shapes were emerging out of thin air all around them, blocking their way left and right; eyes glinted through slits in hoods, a dozen lit wand tips were pointing directly at their hearts. Ginny gave a gasp of horror.  
"To me, Potter," repeated the drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy as he held out his hand, palm up. Christina's insides plummeted sickeningly. They were trapped and outnumbered two to one.  
"To me," said Malfoy yet again.  
"Where's Sirius?" Harry said. Christina sighed as several of the Death Eaters laughed. A harsh female voice from the midst of the shadowy figures to Harry's left said triumphantly, "The Dark Lord always knows!"  
"Always," echoed Malfoy softly. "Now, give me the prophecy, Potter."  
"I want to know where Sirius is!"  
"I want to know where Sirius is!" mimicked the woman to his left. She and her fellow Death Eaters had closed in so that they were mere feet away from Christina and the others, the light from their wands dazzling Christina's eyes.  
"You've got him," said Harry, "He's here. I know he is."  
"The little baby woke up fwightened and fort what it dweamed was twoo," said the woman in a horrible, mock-baby voice. Christina saw Ron stir beside Harry.  
"Don't do anything," she muttered. "Not yet —" The woman who had mimicked Harry let out a raucous scream of laughter.  
"You hear her? You hear her? Giving instructions to the other children as though she thinks of fighting us!"  
"Oh, you don't know Bataskill as I do, Bellatrix," said Malfoy softly. "My son tells me all about her "heroic" tales. But no matter, she is not what the Dark Lord wants, nor cares about. Now give me the prophecy, Potter."  
"I know Sirius is here," said Harry. "I know you've got him!" More of the Death Eaters laughed, though the woman still laughed loudest of all.  
"It's time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter," said Malfoy. "Now give me the prophecy, or we start using wands."  
"Go on, then," said Christina, raising her own wand to chest height. As she did so, the six wands of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Luna rose on either side of her. The knot in Christina's stomach tightened. But the Death Eaters did not strike.  
"Hand over the prophecy and no one need get hurt," said Malfoy coolly. Now Harry started to laugh.  
"Yeah, right!" he said. "I give you this — prophecy, is it? And you'll just let us skip off home, will you?" The words were hardly out of his mouth when the female Death Eater shrieked, "Accio Proph —" Christina was just ready for her. She shouted "Protego maxima!" before the woman had finished her spell, and though the glass sphere slipped to the tips of his fingers he managed to cling on to it.  
"Oh, she knows how to play, little bitty babyskill," she said, her mad eyes staring through the slits in her hood. "Very well, then —"  
"I TOLD YOU, NO!" Lucius Malfoy roared at the woman. "If you smash it — !" Christina's mind was racing. The Death Eaters wanted this dusty spun-glass sphere. She had no interest in it. She just wanted to get them all out of this alive, make sure that none of her friends paid a terrible price for Harry's stupidity . . .  
The woman stepped forward, away from her fellows, and pulled off her hood. Azkaban had hollowed Bellatrix Lestrange's face, making it gaunt and skull-like, but it was alive with a feverish, fanatical glow.  
"You need more persuasion?" she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Very well — take the smallest one," she ordered the Death Eaters beside her. "Let him watch while we torture the little girl. I'll do it." Christian felt the others close in around Ginny. She stepped sideways so that she was right in front of her and watched Harry do the same, the prophecy held up to his chest.  
"You'll have to smash this if you want to attack any of us," he told Bellatrix. "I don't think your boss will be too pleased if you come back without it, will he?" She did not move; she merely stared at him, the tip of her tongue moistening her thin mouth.  
"So," said Harry, "what kind of prophecy are we talking about anyway?" Christina could not think why Harry was talking to these people, they would surely kill all of them, no? Christina wouldn't dare show the Death Eaters her natural powers . . . but if it meant saving their lives?  
"What kind of prophecy?" repeated Bellatrix, the grin fading from her face. "You jest, Harry Potter."  
"Nope, not jesting," said Harry, Christina's eyes flicking from Death Eater to Death Eater, looking for a weak link, a space through which they could escape.  
"How come Voldemort wants it?" Several of the Death Eaters let out low hisses.  
"You dare speak his name?" whispered Bellatrix.  
"Yeah," said Harry, maintaining his tight grip on the glass ball, expecting another attempt to bewitch it from him. "Yeah, I've got no problem saying Vol —"  
"Shut your mouth!" Bellatrix shrieked. "You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with your half-blood's tongue, you dare —"  
"Did you know he's a half-blood too?" said Harry recklessly. Hermione gave a little moan in his ear. "Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a Muggle — or has he been telling you lot he's pureblood?"  
"STUPEF —"  
"NO!" A jet of red light had shot from the end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand, but Malfoy had deflected it. His spell caused hers to hit the shelf a foot to the left of Christina and several of the glass orbs there shattered. Two figures, pearly white as ghosts, fluid as smoke, unfurled themselves from the fragments of broken glass upon the floor and each began to speak. Their voices vied with each other, so that only fragments of what they were saying could be heard over Malfoy and Bellatrix's shouts.  
". . . at the Solstice will come a new . . ." said the figure of an old, bearded man.  
"DO NOT ATTACK! WE NEED THE PROPHECY!"  
"He dared — he dares —" shrieked Bellatrix incoherently. "— He stands there — filthy half-blood —"  
"WAIT UNTIL WE'VE GOT THE PROPHECY!" bawled Malfoy.  
". . . and none will come after . . ." said the figure of a young woman. The two figures that had burst from the shattered spheres had melted into thin air. Nothing remained of them or their erstwhile homes but fragments of glass upon the floor. They had, however, given Christina an idea. The problem was going to be conveying it to the others.  
"You haven't told us what's so special about this prophecy Harry's supposed to be handing over," Christina said, now trying to buy time. She collected dust far away and attempted to blindly spell out-  
"Do not play games with us, Bataskill" said Malfoy.  
"I'm not playing games," said Christina, half her mind on the conversation, half on her dust message. She finished and floated it low on the ground and up into what she hoped was Hermione's hand.  
"Dumbledore never told you that the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries?" said Malfoy sneeringly.  
"I — what?" said Harry. "What about my scar?"  
"What?" Hermione whispered behind Christina urgently. How did she not understand the message?  
"Can this be?" said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted; some of the Death Eaters were laughing again, and under cover of their laughter, Christina hissed to Hermione, moving her lips as little as possible, "Smash shelves —"  
"Dumbledore never told you?" Malfoy repeated. "Well, this explains why you didn't come earlier, the Dark Lord wondered why —"  
"— when I say go —"  
"— you didn't come running when he showed you the place where it was hidden in your dreams. He figured any child in the Black family would run for any sort of dangerous mission . . ." Christina's eyes snapped to Malfoy's. He knew. Voldemort, Malfoy, probably all the Death Eaters around them knew about Sirius and were now teasing Christina on her heritage. The one thing that really sickened her was that now she was blood-related to Bellatrix Lestrange and the Malfoys.  
"Did he?" said Christina. Behind her she felt rather than heard Hermione passing her message to the others and she sought to keep talking, to distract the Death Eaters and Harry was right there with her.  
"So he wanted me to come and get it, did he? Why?" Harry asked.  
"Why?" Malfoy sounded incredulously delighted. "Because the only people who are permitted to retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, Potter, are those about whom it was made, as the Dark Lord discovered when he attempted to use others to steal it for him."  
"And why did he want to steal a prophecy about me?"  
"About both of you, Potter, about both of you . . . Haven't you ever wondered why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby?" Christina stared into the slitted eyeholes through which Malfoy's gray eyes were gleaming. Was this prophecy the reason Harry's parents had died, the reason he carried his lightning-bolt scar? Was the answer to all of this clutched in Harry's hand?  
"Someone made a prophecy about Voldemort and me?" he said quietly, still gazing at Lucius Malfoy, "And he's made me come and get it for him? Why couldn't he come and get it himself?"  
"Get it himself?" shrieked Bellatrix on a cackle of mad laughter. "The Dark Lord, walk into the Ministry of Magic, when they are so sweetly ignoring his return? The Dark Lord, reveal himself to the Aurors, when at the moment they are wasting their time on my dear cousin?"  
"So he's got you doing his dirty work for him, has he?" said Christina. "Like he tried to get Sturgis to steal it — and Bode?"  
"Very good, Bataskill, very good . . ." said Malfoy slowly. "But the Dark Lord knows you are not unintell —"  
"NOW!" yelled Christina. Five different voices behind her bellowed "REDUCTO!" Christina pushed Harry down as five curses flew in five different directions and the shelves opposite them exploded as they hit. The towering structure swayed as a hundred glass spheres burst apart, pearly-white figures unfurled into the air and floated there, their voices echoing from who knew what long-dead past amid the torrent of crashing glass and splintered wood now raining down upon the floor —  
"RUN!" Christina yelled, and as the shelves swayed precariously and more glass spheres began to pour from above, she seized a handful of Harry's robes and dragged him forward, one arm over her head as chunks of shelf and shards of glass thundered down upon them.  
A Death Eater lunged forward through the cloud of dust and Christina elbowed him hard in the masked face. They were all yelling, there were cries of pain, thunderous crashes as the shelves collapsed upon themselves, weirdly echoing fragments of the Seers unleashed from their spheres — Christina found the way ahead clear and saw Ron, Ginny, and Luna sprint past her, their arms over their heads. Something heavy struck her on the side of the face but she merely ducked her head and sprinted onward; a hand caught her by the shoulder; she heard Harry shout "Stupefy!" and the hand released her at once. They were at the end of row ninety-seven; Christina turned right and began to sprint in earnest. She could hear footsteps right behind her and Hermione's voice urging Neville on. The door through which they had come was ajar straight ahead, Christina could see the glittering light of the bell jar, she pelted through it, the prophecy still clutched tight and safe in Harry's hand, waited for the others to hurtle over the threshold before slamming the door behind them —  
"Colloportus!" gasped Hermione and the door sealed itself with an odd squelching noise.  
"Where — where are the others?" gasped Harry. Christina had thought that Ron, Luna, and Ginny had been ahead of them, that they would be waiting in this room, but there was nobody there.  
"They must have gone the wrong way!" whispered Hermione, terror in her face.  
"Listen!" whispered Neville. Footsteps and shouts echoed from behind the door they had just sealed. Christina put her ear close to the door to listen and heard Lucius Malfoy roar:  
"Leave Nott, leave him, I say, the Dark Lord will not care for Nott's injuries as much as losing that prophecy — Jugson, come back here, we need to organize! We'll split into pairs and search, and don't forget, be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, save Bataskill for the Dark Lord! You can kill the others if necessary — Bellatrix, Rodolphus, you take the left, Crabbe, Rabastan, go right — Jugson, Dolohov, the door straight ahead — Macnair and Avery, through here — Rookwood, over there — Mulciber, come with me!"  
"What do we do?" Hermione asked Harry, trembling from head to foot.  
"Well, we don't stand here waiting for them to find us, for a start," said Harry. "Let's get away from this door. . . ." They ran, quietly as they could, past the shimmering bell jar where the tiny egg was hatching and unhatching, toward the exit into the circular hallway at the far end of the room. They were almost there when Christina heard something large and heavy collide with the door Hermione had charmed shut.  
"Stand aside!" said a rough voice. "Alohomora!" As the door flew open, Christina, Harry, Hermione, and Neville dived under desks. They could see the bottom of the two Death Eaters' robes drawing nearer, their feet moving rapidly.  
"They might've run straight through to the hall," said the rough voice.  
"Check under the desks," said another. Christina saw the knees of the Death Eaters bend. Poking her wand out from under the desk she shouted, "STUPEFY !" A jet of red light hit the nearest Death Eater; he fell backward into a grandfather clock and knocked it over. The second Death Eater, however, had leapt aside to avoid Christina's spell and now pointed his own wand at Hermione, who had crawled out from under the desk to get a better aim.  
"Avada —" Harry launched himself across the floor and grabbed the Death Eater around the knees, causing him to topple and his aim to go awry. Christina jumped to Hermione and wrenched her away from the Death Eater. Neville overturned his desk in his anxiety to help; pointing his wand wildly at the struggling pair he cried, "EXPELLIARMUS !" Both Harry's and the Death Eater's wands flew out of their hands and soared back toward the entrance to the Hall of Prophecy; both scrambled to their feet and charged after them, the Death Eater in front and Harry hot on his heels, Neville bringing up the rear, plainly horrorstruck at what he had done.  
"Get out of the way, Harry!" yelled Neville, Christina heard him shout from behind. She let Hermione go and they both bolted out of Neville's potential aim.  
"STUPEFY !" The jet of red light must've flew right over the Death Eater's shoulder because it hit a glass-fronted cabinet on the wall full of variously shaped hourglasses instead of him. The cabinet fell to the floor and burst apart, glass flying everywhere, then sprang back up onto the wall, fully mended, then fell down again, and shattered — Hermione stopped running and pulled Christina back. The girls turned to see the Death Eater had snatched up Neville's wand, which lay on the floor beside the glittering bell jar. Harry ducked down behind another desk as the man turned — his mask had slipped so that he could not see, he ripped it off with his free hand and shouted, "STUP —"  
"STUPEFY !" screamed Christina. The jet of red light hit the Death Eater in the middle of his chest; he froze, his arm still raised, his wand fell to the floor with a clatter and he collapsed backward toward the bell jar. Christina expected to hear a clunk, for the man to hit solid glass and slide off the jar onto the floor, but instead, his head sank through the surface of the bell jar as though it was nothing but a soap bubble and he came to rest, sprawled on his back on the table, with his head lying inside the jar full of glittering wind.  
"Accio Wand!" cried Hermione. Harry's wand flew from a dark corner into her hand and she threw it to him.  
"Thanks," he said, "right, let's get out of —"  
"Look out!" said Neville, horrified, staring at the Death Eater's head in the bell jar. All four of them raised their wands again, but none of them struck. They were all gazing, openmouthed, appalled, at what was happening to the man's head. It was shrinking very fast, growing balder and balder, the black hair and stubble retracting into his skull, his cheeks smooth, his skull round and covered with a peach-like fuzz. . . . A baby's head now sat grotesquely on top of the thick, muscled neck of the Death Eater as he struggled to get up again. But even as they watched, their mouths open, the head began to swell to its previous proportions again, thick black hair was sprouting from the pate and chin. . . .  
"It's time," said Hermione in an awestruck voice. "Time . . ." The Death Eater shook his ugly head again, trying to clear it, but before he could pull himself together again, it began to shrink back to babyhood once more. . . . There was a shout from a room nearby, then a crash and a scream.  
"RON?" Harry yelled, turning quickly from the monstrous transformation taking place before them. "GINNY? LUNA?"  
"Harry!" Hermione screamed. The Death Eater had pulled his head out of the bell jar. His appearance was utterly bizarre, his tiny baby's head bawling loudly while his thick arms flailed dangerously in all directions, narrowly missing Harry, who ducked. Harry raised his wand but amazingly Hermione seized his arm.  
"You can't hurt a baby!"  
"Come on!" Christina said before they argued the point, Harry's yell had just given away their location and time was of the essence. They took off for the door that stood ajar at the other end of the room, leading back into the black hallway. They had run halfway toward it when Christina saw through the open door two more Death Eaters running across the black room toward them. Veering left she burst instead into a small, dark, cluttered office and slammed the door behind them.  
"Collo —" began Hermione, but before she could complete the spell the door had burst open again and the two Death Eaters had come hurtling inside. Christina raised her wand, "STU-"  
"IMPEDIMENTA!" The Death Eaters called out triumphantly. Christina, Harry, Hermione, and Neville were all knocked backward off their feet. Neville was thrown over the desk and disappeared from view, Hermione smashed into a bookcase and was promptly deluged in a cascade of heavy books, the back of Harry's head slammed into the stone wall behind him; Christina slammed her back into the corner of the desk and held her sides tightly in pain, wincing.  
"WE'VE GOT THEM!" yelled the Death Eater nearest Harry, "IN AN OFFICE OFF —"  
"Silencio!" cried Hermione, and the man's voice was extinguished. He continued to mouth through the hole in his mask, but no sound came out; he was thrust aside by his fellow.  
"Petrificus Totalus!" shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand. His arms and legs snapped together and he fell forward, facedown onto the rug at Harry's feet, stiff as a board and unable to move at all.  
"Well done, Ha —" But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand from which flew a streak of what looked like purple flame. It passed right across Hermione's chest; she gave a tiny "oh!" as though of surprise and then crumpled onto the floor where she lay motionless.  
"HERMIONE!" Christina crawled over to her as Harry and Neville rushed rapidly toward her from under the desk, their wands held up in front of them. The Death Eater kicked out hard at Neville's head as he emerged — his foot broke Neville's wand in two and connected with his face — Neville gave a howl of pain and recoiled, clutching his mouth and nose. Christina twisted around, her own wand held high, and saw that the Death Eater had ripped off his mask and was pointing his wand directly at Harry. Christina recognized the long, pale, twisted face from the Daily Prophet: Antonin Dolohov, the wizard who had murdered the Prewetts. Dolohov grinned. With his free hand, he pointed from the prophecy still clutched in Harry's hand, to himself, then at Hermione. Though he could no longer speak his meaning could not have been clearer: Give me the prophecy, or you get the same as her. . . .  
"Like you won't kill us all the moment I hand it over anyway!" said Harry. A whine of panic inside Christina's head was preventing her thinking properly. She had one hand on Hermione's shoulder, which was still warm, yet did not dare look at her properly. Don't let her be dead, don't let her be dead. . . .  
"Whaddever you do, Harry," said Neville fiercely from under the desk, lowering his hands to show a clearly broken nose and blood pouring down his mouth and chin, "don'd gib it to him!" Then there was a crash outside the door, and Dolohov looked over his shoulder — the baby-headed Death Eater had appeared in the doorway, his head bawling, his great fists still flailing uncontrollably at everything around him. Christina seized her chance: "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"  
The spell hit Dolohov before he could block it, and he toppled forward across his comrade, both of them rigid as boards and unable to move an inch.  
"Hermione," Harry said at once, shaking her as the baby-headed Death Eater blundered out of sight again.  
"Hermione, wake up. . . ." Christina was now shaking with fear, she had no idea what that spell could have done.  
"Whaddid he do to her?" said Neville, crawling out from under the desk again to kneel at her other side, blood streaming from his rapidly swelling nose.  
"I dunno. . . ." Neville groped for Hermione's wrist.  
"Dat's a pulse, Harry, I'b sure id is. . . ." Such a powerful wave of relief swept through Christina that for a moment she felt light-headed.  
"She's alive?" Harry said, relieved as well.  
"Yeah, I dink so. . . ." There was a pause in which Christina listened hard for the sounds of more footsteps, but all she could hear were the whimpers and blunderings of the baby Death Eater in the next room.  
"We're not far from the exit," Harry whispered. "We're right next to that circular room. . . . If we can just get you two across it and find the right door before any more Death Eaters come, I'll bet you can get Hermione up the corridor and into the lift. . . . Then you both could find someone. . . . Raise the alarm . . ."  
"Are you nuts?" Christina said earnestly offended.  
"And whad are you two going do do?" said Neville, mopping his bleeding nose with his sleeve and frowning at Harry.  
"Well we've got to find the others," said Harry.  
"Well, I'b going do find dem wid you," said Neville firmly.  
"But Hermione —"  
"We'll dake her wid us," said Neville firmly. "I'll carry her — you're bedder at fighding dem dan I ab —" He stood up and seized one of Hermione's arms, glared at Harry, who hesitated, then grabbed the other and helped hoist Hermione's limp form over Neville's shoulders.  
"Wait," said Christina, snatching up Hermione's wand from the floor and shoving it into Neville's hand, "you'd better take this. . . ." Neville kicked aside the broken fragments of his own wand as they walked slowly toward the door.  
"My gran's going do kill be," said Neville thickly, blood spattering from his nose as he spoke, "dat was by dad's old wand. . . ." Harry stuck his head out of the door and looked around cautiously. The baby-headed Death Eater was screaming still and from the sounds of it, knocking everything over in its path.  
"He's never going to notice us," Harry whispered. "C'mon . . . keep close behind me. . . ." Christina rolled her eyes at the heroic statement and then followed. They crept out of the office and back toward the door into the black hallway, which now seemed completely deserted. They walked a few steps forward, Neville tottering slightly due to Hermione's weight. The door of the Time Room swung shut behind them, and the walls began to rotate once more. With a sinking heart Christina saw that Hermione's fiery crosses had faded from the doors.  
"So which way d'you reck — ?" But before they could make a decision as to which way to try, a door to their right sprang open and three people fell out of it.  
"Ron!" croaked Harry, dashing toward them. "Ginny — are you all — ?"  
"Harry," said Ron, giggling weakly, lurching forward, seizing the front of Harry's robes and gazing at him with unfocused eyes. "There you are. . . . Ha ha ha . . . You look funny, Harry. . . . You're all messed up. . . . Ron's face was very white and something dark was trickling from the corner of his mouth. Next moment his knees had given way, but he still clutched the front of Harry's robes, so that Harry was pulled into a kind of bow.  
"Ginny?" Christina said fearfully. "What happened?" But Ginny shook her head and slid down the wall into a sitting position, panting and holding her ankle.  
"I think her ankle's broken, I heard something crack," whispered Luna, who was bending over her and who alone seemed to be unhurt. "Four of them chased us into a dark room full of planets, it was a very odd place, some of the time we were just floating in the dark —"  
"Harry, we saw Uranus up close!" said Ron, still giggling feebly. "Get it, Harry? We saw Uranus — ha ha ha —" A bubble of blood grew at the corner of Ron's mouth and burst.  
"Anyway, one of them grabbed Ginny's foot, I used the Reductor Curse and blew up Pluto in his face, but . . ." Luna gestured hopelessly at Ginny, who was breathing in a very shallow way, her eyes still closed.  
"And what about Ron?" said Harry fearfully, as Ron continued to giggle, still hanging off the front of Harry's robes.  
"I don't know what they hit him with," said Luna sadly, "but he's gone a bit funny, I could hardly get him along at all. . . ."  
"Harry," said Ron, pulling Harry's ear down to his mouth and still giggling weakly, "you know who this girl is, Harry? She's Loony . . . Loony Lovegood . . . ha ha ha . . ."  
"We've got to get out of here," said Christina firmly. "Luna, can you help Ginny?"  
"Yes," said Luna, sticking her wand behind her ear for safekeeping, putting an arm around Ginny's waist and pulling her up.  
"It's only my ankle, I can do it myself!" said Ginny impatiently, but next moment she had collapsed sideways and grabbed Luna for support.  
"Wait." Christina said, and then made make-shift crutches from the black stone around them. She passed them to Ginny who thanked her. Harry pulled Ron's arm over his shoulder. Christina looked around: They had a one-in-twelve chance of getting the exit right the first time — Harry heaved Ron toward a door; they were within a few feet of it when another door across the hall burst open and three Death Eaters sped into the hall, led by Bellatrix Lestrange.  
"There they are!" she shrieked. Stunning Spells shot across the room: Harry smashed his way through the door ahead, flung Ron unceremoniously from him, and ducked back to help Neville in with Hermione. They were all over the threshold just in time to slam the door against Bellatrix.  
"Colloportus!" shouted Christina, and she heard three bodies slam into the door on the other side.  
"It doesn't matter!" said a man's voice. "There are other ways in — WE'VE GOT THEM, THEY'RE HERE!" Christina spun around. They were back in the Brain Room and, sure enough, there were doors all around the walls. She could hear footsteps in the hall behind them as more Death Eaters came running to join the first.  
"Harry – Luna — Neville — help me!" Christina asked urgently. The four of them tore around the room, sealing the doors as they went: Harry crashed into a table and rolled over the top of it in his haste to reach the next door.  
"Colloportus!"  
There were footsteps running along behind the doors; every now and then another heavy body would launch itself against one, so it creaked and shuddered. Luna and Neville were bewitching the doors along the opposite wall — then, as Christina reached the very top of the room, she heard Luna cry, "Collo — aaaaaaaaargh . . ." She turned in time to see her flying through the air. Five Death Eaters were surging into the room through the door she had not reached in time; Luna hit a desk, slid over its surface and onto the floor on the other side where she lay sprawled, as still as Hermione.  
"Get Potter!" shrieked Bellatrix, and she ran at him. He dodged her and sprinted back up the room; he was safe as long as they thought they might hit the prophecy —  
"Hey!" said Ron, who had staggered to his feet and was now tottering drunkenly toward Christina, giggling. "Hey, Christina, there are brains in here, ha ha ha, isn't that weird, Christina?"  
"Ron, get out of the way, get down —"  
But Ron had already pointed his wand at the tank. "Honest, Christina, they're brains — look — Accio Brain!" The scene seemed momentarily frozen. Christina, Harry, Ginny, and Neville and each of the Death Eaters turned in spite of themselves to watch the top of the tank as a brain burst from the green liquid like a leaping fish. For a moment it seemed suspended in midair, then it soared toward Ron, spinning as it came, and what looked like ribbons of moving images flew from it, unraveling like rolls of film — "Ha ha ha, Christina, look at it —" said Ron, watching it disgorge its gaudy innards.  
"Christina, come and touch it, bet it's weird —"  
"RON, NO!" Christina did not know what would happen if Ron touched the tentacles of thought now flying behind the brain, but she was sure it would not be anything good. She darted forward but Ron had already caught the brain in his outstretched hands. The moment they made contact with his skin, the tentacles began wrapping themselves around Ron's arms like ropes.  
"Christina, look what's happen — no — no, I don't like it — no, stop — stop —" But the thin ribbons were spinning around Ron's chest now. He tugged and tore at them as the brain was pulled tight against him like an octopus's body.  
"Diffindo!" yelled Harry, trying to sever the feelers wrapping themselves tightly around Ron before his eyes, but they would not break. Ron fell over, still thrashing against his bonds.  
"Harry, it'll suffocate him!" screamed Ginny, immobilized by her broken ankle on the floor — then a jet of red light flew from one of the Death Eater's wands and hit her squarely in the face. She keeled over sideways, crutches shattering, and lay there unconscious.  
"STUBEFY !" shouted Neville, wheeling around and waving Hermione's wand at the oncoming Death Eaters. "STUBEFY, STUBEFY !" But nothing happened — one of the Death Eaters shot their own Stunning Spell at Neville; it missed him by inches.  
Christina, Harry and Neville were now the only ones left fighting the five Death Eaters, two of whom sent streams of silver light like arrows past them that left craters in the wall behind them. Harry ran for it as Bellatrix Lestrange sprinted right at him. Holding the prophecy high above his head he sprinted back up the room; he was drawing the Death Eaters away from the others.  
"HELP RON!" Christina yelled back at Neville as she sprinted off, sending hexes at the back of the Death Eaters' heads. Harry dashed through the only door still open, the one through which the Death Eaters themselves had come. He ran a few feet into the new room and fell — He was falling down steep stone step after steep stone step, bouncing on every tier until at last, with a crash. He landed flat on his back in the sunken pit where the stone archway stood on its dais and Christina pushed her way past the Death Eaters and jumped down to him. The whole room was ringing with the Death Eaters' laughter.  
"You okay?" Christina asked and helped Harry up. She looked up and saw the five who had been in the Brain Room descending toward them, while as many more emerged through other doorways and began leaping from bench to bench toward them. Harry got to his feet though his legs were trembling so badly Christina offered a hand to support him.  
The prophecy was still miraculously unbroken in his left hand, his wand clutched tightly in his right. Christina and Harry backed away, looking around, trying to keep all the Death Eaters within their sights. The back of her legs hit something solid; they had reached the dais where the archway stood. They climbed backward onto it. The Death Eaters all halted, gazing at them. Some were panting as hard as they were. One was bleeding badly; Dolohov, freed of the full Body-Bind, was leering, his wand pointing straight at Harry's face.  
"Kids, your race is run," drawled Lucius Malfoy, pulling off his mask. "Now hand me the prophecy like a good boy. . . ."  
"Let — let the others go, and I'll give it to you!" said Harry desperately. A few of the Death Eaters laughed.  
"You are not in a position to bargain, Potter," said Lucius Malfoy, his pale face flushed with pleasure. "You see, there are ten of us and only two of you . . . or hasn't Dumbledore ever taught you how to count?"  
"Dab's twee!" shouted a voice from above them. "Dey's still god be!" Christina's heart sank. Neville was scrambling down the stone benches toward them, Hermione's wand held fast in his trembling hand.  
"Neville — no — go back to Ron —"  
"STUBEFY !" Neville shouted again, pointing his wand at each Death Eater in turn, "STUBEFY ! STUBE —" One of the largest Death Eaters seized Neville from behind, pinioning his arms to his sides. He struggled and kicked; several of the Death Eaters laughed.  
"It's Longbottom, isn't it?" sneered Lucius Malfoy. "Well, your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause. . . . Your death will not come as a great shock. . . ."  
"Longbottom?" repeated Bellatrix, and a truly evil smile lit her gaunt face. "Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy. . . ."  
"I DOE YOU HAB!" roared Neville, and he fought so hard against his captor's encircling grip that the Death Eater shouted, "Someone Stun him!"  
"No, no, no," said Bellatrix. She looked transported, alive with excitement as she glanced at Christina and Harry, then back at Neville. "No, let's see how long Longbottom lasts before he cracks like his parents. . . . Unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy —"  
"DON'D GIB ID DO DEM!" roared Neville, who seemed beside himself, kicking and writhing as Bellatrix drew nearer to him and his captor, her wand raised.  
"DON'D GIB ID DO DEM, HARRY!" Bellatrix raised her wand.  
"REDUCTO!" Christina cried, pointing to the ceiling above Bellatrix. The spell hit it and blast an opening, letting heavy stone pieces fall but Bellatrix stopped them and sent them crashing into the wall.  
"Crucio!" Bellatrix yelled and Neville screamed, his legs drawn up to his chest so that the Death Eater holding him was momentarily holding him off the ground.  
"BOMBARDA! STUPEFY! REDUCTO! LEVICORPUS!" Christina sent over every defensive spell she could think of but the Death Eaters were now chasing after her.  
"Locomotor mortis!" one of the Death Eaters yelled and Christina fell flat on her face into the cold stone. Christina could not move her legs and just when she tried to wriggle herself around, Lucius Malfoy grabbed her by the hair and dragged her up to his height, Christina holding onto his fists trying to pry herself free.  
"Enough!" he spat in her face, and threw her down to the ground. He grabbed her wrists and dragged her toward Harry menacingly.  
"Now, Potter, either give us the prophecy, or watch your little friend die the hard way!"  
Harry looked miserable and defenseless as he held out the prophecy for Malfoy. Malfoy dropped Christina to the floor and jumped forward to take it. Then, high above them, two more doors burst open and five more people sprinted into the room: Sirius, Lupin, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley. Malfoy turned and raised his wand, but Tonks had already sent a Stunning Spell right at him. Christina did not wait to see whether it had made contact, because Harry was now carrying her off the dais and out of the way.  
The Death Eaters were completely distracted by the appearance of the members of the Order, who were now raining spells down upon them as they jumped from step to step toward the sunken floor: Through the darting bodies, the flashes of light, Christina could see Neville crawling along. Harry rushed over to him and placed Christina down there and released the leg-locking jinx.  
"Are you okay?" Harry yelled to Christina and Neville, as another spell soared inches over their heads.  
"Yes," said Neville, trying to pull himself up.  
"I'm fine." said Christina.  
"And Ron?"  
"I dink he's all right — he was still fighding the brain when I left —" But Christina had heard enough and ran towards the dais, to retrieve her wand. She ran down and saw Lupin dart towards her, throwing a spell behind his shoulder. Then he pointed the wand directly at her, "emproteggerla da se stessa" /emand the annoyingly familiar crimson hoops reappeared on her wrists and she was powerless. She gave Lupin a dirty look but was shaken out of it when a jet of green light zipped between their line of sight. Christina ducked again and went for her wand, sitting pristinely on the stone dais.  
She held it tightly in her hand and turned to see Moody, down for the count and Dolohov closing in on Harry and Neville.  
"Tarantallegra!" he shouted, his wand pointing at Neville, whose legs went immediately into a kind of frenzied tap dance, unbalancing him and causing him to fall to the floor again.  
"Now, Potter —" He made the same slashing movement with his wand that he had used on Hermione just as Christina yelled, "Protego!" from afar. Harry fell over Neville's jerking legs, but the Shield Charm had stopped the worst of the spell. Christina ran over to them when Dolohov raised his wand again.  
"Accio Proph —" Sirius hurtled out of nowhere, rammed Dolohov with his shoulder, and sent him flying out of the way. The prophecy had again flown to the tips of Harry's fingers but he had managed to cling to it. Now Sirius and Dolohov were dueling, their wands flashing like swords, sparks flying from their wand tips — Dolohov drew back his wand to make the same slashing movement he had used on Harry and Hermione. Springing up, Christina yelled, "Petrificus Totalus!" Once again, Dolohov's arms and legs snapped together and he keeled over backward, landing with a crash on his back.  
"Nice one, Katy!" shouted Sirius, forcing Christina's head down as a pair of Stunning Spells flew toward them. She smiled at the misname but didn't have a chance to bask in the moment.  
"Now I want you to get out of —" They both ducked again. A jet of green light had narrowly missed Sirius; across the room Christina saw Harry run to Tonks who had fallen from halfway up the stone steps, her limp form toppling from stone seat to stone seat, and Bellatrix, triumphant, running back toward the fray.  
"Dear, take the prophecy, grab Harry and Neville, and run!" Sirius yelled, dashing to meet Bellatrix. Christina did not see what happened next: Kingsley swayed across his field of vision, battling with the pockmarked Rookwood, now mask-less; another jet of green light flew over Christina's head as she launched herself toward Neville — Harry too far away to get, he seemed to be fighting two Death Eaters at once . . .  
"Can you stand?" Christina bellowed in Neville's ear, as Neville's legs jerked and twitched uncontrollably. "Put your arm round my neck —" Neville did so — Christina heaved — Neville's legs were still flying in every direction, they would not support him and then, out of nowhere, a man lunged at them. Both fell backward, Neville's legs waving wildly like an overturned beetle's, Christina waving her wand as if to threaten the man.  
"You'll pay for what you did to my son!" snarled Lucius Malfoy's voice in her ear, and Christina couldn't help but think 'emWhich time?' /emShe felt the tip of Malfoy's wand pressing hard between her ribs.  
"No — get — off — me . . . Harry!" Harry had appeared behind Malfoy and tackled him, Christina ducking out of the way of Malfoy and Harry's fall. Christina watched as Neville caught the prophecy Harry had thrown. Malfoy pointed the wand instead at Neville, but Harry jabbed his own wand back over his shoulder and yelled, "Impedimenta!" Malfoy was blasted off his back.  
As Christina scrambled up again she looked around and saw Malfoy smash into the dais on which Sirius and Bellatrix were now dueling. Malfoy aimed his wand at Harry and Neville again, but before he could draw breath to strike, Lupin had jumped between them.  
"Harry, round up the others and GO!" Lupin shouted. Harry seized Neville by the shoulder of his robes and lifted him bodily onto the first tier of stone steps but Christina was in no mood to be bossed around by Lupin. She came to fight.  
"Stupefy!" Christina cried, joining ranks with Sirius battling both Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy. They were quick to throw spells but Christina was quick to block, and since she was nearly top of her Charms class, finding defensive spells wasn't too difficult. Bellatrix laughed through ever spell, licking her teeth with blood-lust at every incantation.  
"Families shouldn't fight!" Bellatrix cackled at Christina and Sirius, "I'd hate to kill my niece!" she sneered.  
"DUBBLEDORE!" Christina threw up one last spell and jumped down two steps to turn safely to see what Neville was yelling at. Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Christina felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of her body — they were saved.  
Dumbledore sped down the steps past Neville and Harry. Dumbledore was already at the foot of the steps when the Death Eaters nearest realized he was there. There were yells; Malfoy darted away, another one of the Death Eaters ran for it, scrabbling like a monkey up the stone steps opposite. Dumbledore's spell pulled him back as easily and effortlessly as though he had hooked him with an invisible line — Only one couple were still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Christina saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: He was laughing at her.  
"Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest. The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock. Christina was frozen, watching the scene unfold.  
It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch. . . . And Christina saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on her father's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place. Christina heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing — Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second. . . . But Sirius did not reappear.  
Christina turned to Dumbledore looking for an explanation. Her breathing started to hike and her hands started to shake.  
"But –"  
"SIRIUS!" Harry yelled from the stone steps, "SIRIUS!" Christina turned to see Harry struggling against Kingsley trying to get to where Christina was. Christina turned back to the curtain and reached a hand out to open the veil when Lupin grabbed Christina around the chest, holding her back.  
"There's nothing you can do, Christina —"  
"What happened! He just fell through, why isn't he coming out?" Tears started to well in her eyes as she knew what words were coming next.  
"It's too late, Christina —"  
"He's — he's right there! He can probably hear us, SIRIUS!" Christina struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go. . . . she was powerless . . .  
"There's nothing you can do, Christina . . . nothing. . . . He's gone."


	35. Chapter 35: Fearless

"He's not gone! Stop it!" Christina yelled.

She did not believe it, she would not believe it; still she fought Lupin with every bit of strength she had cursing at him to release her, to lift the spell that was stiffening her natural powers. Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she thrashed against Lupin.

"DAD!" She bellowed, "DAD!"

"I'm so sorry, Christina," said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain her. She screamed in agony. This was it. She had nothing, no one. She felt like she had to vomit, her insides crawling with dread and despair. And in another pang of defeat, she remembered her conversation in the fire with Sirius and fell to her knees. Christina couldn't breathe, Lupin still holding her tightly.

There was movement going on around them, pointless bustling, the flashes of more spells. To Christina it was meaningless noise, the deflected curses flying past them did not matter, nothing mattered. Lupin tried to drag Christina away from the dais but she screamed against him and he stopped. Her father for the second time in her life was dead, she wasn't going anywhere.

Dumbledore had most of the remaining Death Eaters grouped in the middle of the room, seemingly immobilized by invisible ropes. Mad-Eye Moody had crawled across the room to where Tonks lay and was attempting to revive her. Behind the dais there were still flashes of light, grunts, and cries — Kingsley had run forward to continue Sirius's duel with Bellatrix while Neville stayed with Harry.

There was a loud bang and a yell from behind the dais. Christina saw Kingsley, yelling in pain, hit the ground. Bellatrix Lestrange turned tail and ran as Dumbledore whipped around. He aimed a spell at her but she deflected it. She was halfway up the steps now — emotion flooded Christina seeing her father's killer, a burning, red hot rage, and Christina ripped herself away from Lupin, breaking the rings around her wrists. She flew at full speed towards Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Christina — no!" cried Lupin, but she was gone both mentally and physically. Bellatrix took a look over her shoulder in absolute fear and Christina reveled in it. If she couldn't have Sirius then she'd settle for avenging him. Bellatrix was scrambling up the stone benches when Christina collided into her and pushed her forward into the room where the brains were swimming. Bellatrix fell a few feet in front of Christina as she landed on her hands and knees like a wild animal. Bellatrix aimed a curse over her shoulder. The tank rose into the air and tipped. Christina rose several feet in the air, mad with power and fury and lifted the black tiles from the floor, throwing them at Bellatrix like ninja stars. Bellatrix ran through another door and Christina flew through it and flew through the ceiling, knowing Lestrange would eventually get to the atrium where Christina would be waiting.

After what seemed like an eternity of her chest heaving and Christina nearly snapped her wand from her tight grip, she heard footsteps.

"Come out, come out, little niece!" Bellatrix called in her mock-baby voice, which echoed off the polished wooden floors.

"What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge your dear daddy!"

"I am!" shouted Christina, and a score of ghostly Christina's seemed to chorus _I am! I am! I am!_ all around the room.

"Aaaaaah . . . did you love him, little babyskill?" Hatred rose in Christina such as she had never known before. She flung herself at her, pelted through the air and grabbed Bellatrix by the throat and threw her into the golden fountain. Her head collided with the head of the handsome wizard and the stone crashed to the water making a splash.

"Impervius!" Christina called, pointing the wand at herself. She was now water-proof. She again rose into the air and grabbed Bellatrix again, this time slamming her down on the floor, gripping her jaw with one hand.

"Bataskill, you cannot win against me!" she breathed out, licking her teeth. Christina tightened her grip and heard the crunch of one of Bellatrix's bones. Bellatrix gave a quick tiny wail and then her eyes went black.

"I was and am the Dark Lord's most loyal servant, I learned the Dark Arts from him, and I know spells of such power that you, pathetic little girl, can never hope to compete —"

"I'll kill you, right here, right now. I don't care who sees." But Bellatrix just laughed at Christina again.

"You're red, you know that?" she said giggling. Christina did not expect this and slackened her grip. Christina looked down to see herself glowing red, scar bleeding and in her reflection from the walls her hair was floating as if underwater. Bellatrix took Christina's moment of vulnerability and scrambled from out underneath her but Christina was too quick. She lifted her hands and two large ribbons of stone cast out for Bellatrix and grabbed her wrists, dragging her down to the ground. She was captured. Christina walked over slowly to her prey.

"I'm going to kill you." Christina said, calm in her tone and yet still chaotically full of anger. Bellatrix cackled.

"You wouldn't dream of it, baby-"

"CRUCIO!" Christina spat and watched Bellatrix writhe in pain under the stone-restraints. Her mind was rushing through thoughts _That's it . . . she deserves this . . . she killed him . . . you know the spell . . ._ thoughts not entirely her own . . .

Christina whipped around and saw him. Tall, thin, and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes staring . . . Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall, his hand open to Christina, offering it to her.

"I'm so proud of you, Christina . . . " the stone ribbons disintegrated and Bellatrix stopped screaming. Christina took a step back away from him. Lord Voldemort took a step forward.

"I didn't think I'd ever meet another with natural abilities . . . such a rarity nowadays . . .such a secret to keep, I know that can be hard on a young girl." Voldemort went to touch her shoulder and Christina dissolved herself to dust and reappeared fifteen feet away from him.

"Get away from me. You don't know anything about me!" she yelled, confused and angry. What was he playing at?

"I know that Sirius Black was your father, I know he didn't have to die tonight-"

"Stop it!" she backs up a bit and launches several medium-size stone from the wall at Voldemort. He zaps them away with his wand and advances on her.

"I know Remus Lupin is the farthest thing you have to a mentor . . . that he thinks you're the most dangerous person he's ever met. He thinks your powers should be taken away." Christina didn't speak. He's lying. He has to be

. . .

"I must admit, I did not know about your rare abilities, an old family heirloom, perhaps?" Christina got quiet, trying to figure out his angle. Was he actually interested in the rarity of her abilities?

"I-I don't know. Probably." He paced around her, black garments flowing behind him.

"Do they have a way of protecting themselves from you?" she was confused at first but then understood and didn't respond, just stared into those lifeless slits of his. Lord Voldemort continued onward, "They always do . . . whether it be a cage or collar, people always have a way of controlling things they think are dangerous. I want to understand you, Christina. I may be the last one willing to try . . . "

"Dumbledore said-"

"Is this the same Albus Dumbledore who couldn't look at you for 8 months?" the words echoed in the hall and Christina let them hang there. Hands shaking.

"They treat you like an animal, a second-class citizen . . . you should live more like me-"

"A murderer?" she spat back. He gave a small laugh.

"Had I not stopped you, you would've been just that" and he pointed to the now-quiet Bellatrix Lestrange. She couldn't respond, he was right. What was happening? How could she be having a conversation with the man who had caused her so much pain? She remembered that Voldemort has possessed her the night Mr. Weasley got attacked, and let all ambivalent feelings aside and charged at him.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Christina had not even opened her mouth to resist. Her mind was blank, her wand pointing uselessly at the floor. But the headless golden statue of the wizard in the fountain had sprung alive, leaping from its plinth, and landed on the floor with a crash between Christina and Voldemort. The spell merely glanced off its chest as the statue flung out its arms, protecting Christina.

"What — ?" said Voldemort, staring around. And then he breathed, "Potter!" Christina looked behind her, her heart pounding. Harry was standing in front of the golden gates. Voldemort raised his wand and sent another jet of green light at Harry, but Christina took control of the statue with her natural earth abilities and sent the statue running for Harry. The spell rebounded off its back and the statue scooped Harry up and protected him in a corner, restraining him. Sirius was dead, Christina was going to lose Harry too.

Christina then sprang the other statues to life too. The statue of the witch ran at Bellatrix, who screamed and sent spells streaming uselessly off its chest, before it dived at her, pinning her to the floor. Meanwhile, the goblin and the house-elf scuttled toward the fireplaces set along the wall, and the one-armed centaur galloped at Voldemort, who vanished and reappeared beside the pool. Christina advanced on Voldemort and the golden centaur cantered around them both. If Voldemort knew about her natural powers then she might as well use them.

"I'm stronger than I look" said Christina bitingly, fists clenched. "If I don't kill you, then Dumbledore and the Order will."

"I want to see what you can do, prove yourself!" shouted Voldemort in glee. He sent another Killing Curse at Christina but missed, instead hitting the security guards desk, which burst into flame. Christina drew out some of her red energy that was emanating off of her and directed it at Voldemort. The force that emanated from it was such an intensity that it almost knocked Christina back, and this time Voldemort was forced to conjure a shining silver shield out of thin air to deflect it. Christina unfortunately caused no visible damage to the shield, though a deep, gonglike note reverberated from it, an oddly chilling sound. . . .

Voldemort seemed almost impressed. Christina heard Harry squirming under the grasp of the statue but didn't take her eyes off Voldemort.

Another jet of green light flew from behind the silver shield. This time it was the one-armed centaur, galloping in front of Christina, that took the blast and shattered into a hundred pieces, but before the fragments had even hit the floor, Christina had drawn back her hand and waved it as though brandishing a whip. Dirt and dust flew from the air and started heating up, molecules rubbing against one another and soon a long thin diamond belt flew and it wrapped itself around Voldemort, shield and all squeezing to crush it.

For a moment, it seemed Christina had won, but then the diamond rope smashed to the ground in a million little pieces and a fiery serpent emanated from Voldemort's wand and turned, hissing furiously, to face Christina.

Voldemort vanished.

The snake reared from the floor, ready to strike — There was a burst of flame in midair above Christina just as Voldemort reappeared, standing on the plinth in the middle of the pool where so recently the five statues had stood.

"Look out!" Harry yelled. But even as he shouted, one more jet of green light had flown at Christina from Voldemort's wand and the snake had struck — Fawkes swooped down in front of Christina, opened his beak wide, and swallowed the jet of green light whole. He burst into flame and fell to the floor, small, wrinkled, and flightless. At the same moment, Christina raised her hands and ripped down two large parts of the wall and clapped them together around the snake, putting it out. She turned to Voldemort and rose to grime in the water up, water with it and covered Voldemort like a cocoon of molten glass — For a few seconds Voldemort was visible only as a dark, rippling, faceless figure, shimmering and indistinct upon the plinth, clearly struggling to throw off the suffocating mass — Then he was gone, and the water fell with a crash back into its pool, slopping wildly over the sides, drenching the polished floor. Christina flew several feet in the air to stay dry. Then, BANG! The headless statue protecting Harry exploded and now Voldemort was gaining on Harry.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Their wands connected and Christina landed next to Harry and added to the stream of light against Voldemort. The power kept building and building but just when it looked like Christina and Harry's spells were going to hit Voldemort, he sent them all back with a yell that reverberated through the entire atrium; glass cabinets shattered into billions of shards, Christina and Harry were knocked back on their feet. Voldemort raised his hands and the direction of the shards changed, no longer were they falling directly to the ground, but instead were pointing directly at Christina and Harry. _Think! Think! Think! . . . Glass is made from sand!_ Christina lifted her hands to cover herself and Harry and closed her eyes and concentrated intensely on changing every shard from glass to sand. She shook but was rewarded when the first grain of sand covered her and Harry. Voldemort no longer was impressed but annoyed and vanished in a cocoon of sand.

"MASTER!" screamed Bellatrix. But Christina was not convinced he was gone for good. She started to feel the particles in the air and could feel something moving invisibly through the air . . .

Harry went to get off the floor but Christina bellowed, "Stay where you are, Harry!"

Christina couldn't place the movement, it was so erradic and not made of any material she had lifted before . . . the hall was still, save for the sobbing Bellatrix still trapped under her statue, and the tiny baby Fawkes croaking feebly on the floor — And then Harry screamed and Christina turned to him to see him writhing on the floor as if under the Cruciatus curse. His eyes flickering between white and their normal green.

"Harry?" she asked feebly, holding him down with both hands. Tears started to well up in her eyes, there was no one to fight, nothing to do . . . Harry was dying . . .

"Kill me now, Christina. . . ." but this was not Harry's voice. The voice was cold, sinister. Christina tried to turn his body to dust, like she could normally do but his body was being ravaged by something . . . or someone. Harry gave another gut-wrenching scream. She didn't know what to do, she turned around looking for help but no one was there.

"HELP!" she screamed, but knew that no one would come. "Harry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry . . ." Her tears fell on Harry's cheeks.

"Save the boy from the pain . . end it now. . . ." said the cold voice again, Christina shook Harry, crying, holding him in her arms. He choked back screams and convulsed and then, silence. Christina looked down and saw Harry shivering but no longer in agony. His eyes a glassy green.

"Harry? Is that you?" Christina asked in tears. And there were voices echoing through the hall, more voices than there should have been.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Christina spotted his glasses which had fallen a foot away and handed them back to Harry.

"Yes," said Harry, shaking so violently he could not hold his head up properly. "Yeah, I'm — where's Voldemort, where — who are all these — what's —" The Atrium was full of people. The floor was reflecting emerald-green flames that had burst into life in all the fireplaces along one wall, and a stream of witches and wizards was emerging from them.

Dumbledore was running now to Christina and Harry, looking worried. He pulled Harry up to his feet and Christina helped herself up. Christina saw the tiny gold statues of the house-elf and the goblin leading a stunned-looking Cornelius Fudge forward.

"He was there!" shouted a scarlet-robed man with a ponytail, who was pointing at a pile of golden rubble on the other side of the hall, where Bellatrix had lain trapped moments before.

"I saw him, Mr. Fudge, I swear, it was You-Know-Who, he grabbed a woman and Disapparated!"

"I know, Williamson, I know, I saw him too!" gibbered Fudge, who was wearing pajamas under his pinstriped cloak and was gasping as though he had just run miles. "Merlin's beard — here — here! — in the Ministry of Magic! — great heavens above — it doesn't seem possible — my word — how can this be?"

"If you proceed downstairs into the Department of Mysteries, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, apparently satisfied that Harry was all right, and walking forward so that the newcomers realized he was there for the first time (a few of them raised their wands, others simply looked amazed; the statues of the elf and goblin applauded and Fudge jumped so much that his slipper-clad feet left the floor), "you will find several escaped Death Eaters contained in the Death Chamber, bound by an Anti-Disapparation Jinx and awaiting your decision as to what to do with them."

"Dumbledore!" gasped Fudge, apparently beside himself with amazement. "You — here — I — I —" He looked wildly around at the Aurors he had brought with him, and it could not have been clearer that he was in half a mind to cry, "Seize him!"

"Cornelius, I am ready to fight your men — and win again!" said Dumbledore in a thunderous voice. "But a few minutes ago you saw proof, with your own eyes, that I have been telling you the truth for a year. Lord Voldemort has returned, you have been chasing the wrong men for twelve months, and it is time you listened to sense!"

"I — don't — well —" blustered Fudge, looking around as though hoping somebody was going to tell him what to do. When nobody did, he said, "Very well — Dawlish! Williamson! Go down to the Department of Mysteries and see . . . Dumbledore, you — you will need to tell me exactly — the Fountain of Magical Brethren — what happened?" he added in a kind of whimper, staring around at the floor, where the remains of the statues of the witch, wizard, and centaur now lay scattered.

"I'm sure Ms. Bataskill will be happy to explain back at Hogwarts." said Dumbledore. "Bataskill — Christina Bataskill?" Fudge spun around and stared at Christina and with another dumb-struck look, noticed Harry.

"She, he-here?" said Fudge. "Why — what's all this about?"

"I shall explain everything," repeated Dumbledore, "when the children are back at school." He walked away from the pool to the place where the golden wizard's head lay on the floor. He pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Portus." The head glowed blue and trembled noisily against the wooden floor for a few seconds, then became still once more.

"Now see here, Dumbledore!" said Fudge, as Dumbledore picked up the head and walked back to Christina and Harry carrying it. "You haven't got authorization for that Portkey! You can't do things like that right in front of the Minister of Magic, you — you —" His voice faltered as Dumbledore surveyed him magisterially over his half-moon spectacles.

"You will give the order to remove Dolores Umbridge from Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "You will tell your Aurors to stop searching for my Care of Magical Creatures teacher so that he can return to work. I will give you . . ." Dumbledore pulled a watch with twelve hands from his pocket and glanced at it, "half an hour of my time tonight, in which I think we shall be more than able to cover the important points of what has happened here. After that, I shall need to return to my school. If you need more help from me you are, course, more than welcome to contact me at Hogwarts. Letters addressed to the headmaster will find me." Fudge goggled worse than ever. His mouth was open and his round face grew pinker under his rumpled gray hair. "I — you —" Dumbledore turned his back on him.

"Take this Portkey." He held out the golden head of the statue, and Christina placed her hand upon it, past caring what she did next or where she went. Harry grabbed it as well.

"I shall see you in half an hour," said Dumbledore quietly. "One . . . two . . . three . . ." Christina felt the familiar sensation of a hook being jerked behind her navel. The polished wooden floor was gone from beneath her feet; the Atrium, Fudge, and Dumbledore had all disappeared, and she was flying forward in a whirlwind of color and sound. . . .


	36. Chapter 36: Explanation

Christina's feet hit solid ground again; her knees buckled a little and the golden wizard's head fell with a resounding clunk to the floor. She looked around and saw that they had arrived in Dumbledore's office.

Everything seemed to have repaired itself during the headmaster's absence. The delicate silver instruments stood again upon the spindle-legged tables, puffing and whirring serenely. The portraits of the headmasters and headmistresses were snoozing in their frames, heads lolling back in armchairs or against the edge of their pictures.

Christina looked through the window. There was a cool line of pale green along the horizon: Dawn was approaching. She turned to look at Harry who was silently picking at the hem of his robes.

"Well?" Christina started, waiting for an apology for the numerous wrongdoings Harry had incurred over the night. He, instead, walked away. The glass cabinet next to Harry's head burst and glass shards rained on him, Christina didn't mean to but her powers seemed to be talking for her now.

"WELL?"

"Well, what!" Harry shouted back angrily.

"How about, I'm sorry for dragging you into the Department of Mysteries, I'm sorry for getting Sirius killed, thanks for making sure I didn't get killed! How about that, for starters!" she spat back, Harry paced the room, fuming. She could have killed him she was so angry. Any emotion she felt for Harry when he was dying was gone now, and now all she could think about was how this could all have been avoided.

The portraits were now stirring, grumpy from the rude awakening. A picture behind Harry gave a particularly loud grunting snore, and a cool voice said, "Ah . . . you two again . . .they should give you beds in here, you're practically house-guests . . ." Phineas Nigellus gave a long yawn, stretching his arms as he watched Christina and Harry with shrewd, narrow eyes.

"And what brings you here in the early hours of the morning?" said Phineas. "This office is supposed to be barred to all but the rightful headmaster. Or has Dumbledore sent you here? Oh, don't tell me . . ." He gave another shuddering yawn. "Another message for my worthless great-great-grandson?"

"No, he's dead. Harry killed him." Christina said nastily.

"SHUT UP!" Harry's wand flew up and sparks flew at Christina, smashing her against the wall. Christina's head snapped up to look at Harry who was now running at her. They collided on the floor and she began hitting every inch of him she could reach while he tried to restrain her hands. Spitting curse words at one another, Christina got the upper hand and was now gripping Harry by the hair screaming at him.

"I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU HE WASN'T THERE, BUT YOU WOULDN'T LISTEN! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU, YOU ARROGANT, POMPOUS—!"

The empty fireplace burst into emerald-green flame, making Christina pause, staring at the man spinning inside the grate. As Dumbledore's tall form unfolded itself from the fire, the wizards and witches on the surrounding walls applauded. Whether the cries of welcome were from the fight ending or Dumbledore's return, Christina could not tell.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore softly. He did not look at Christina nor Harry at first, but walked over to the perch beside the door and withdrew, from an inside pocket of his robes, the tiny, ugly, featherless Fawkes, whom he placed gently on the tray of soft ashes beneath the golden post where the full-grown Fawkes usually stood.

"Well," said Dumbledore, finally turning away from the baby bird, "you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events."

Christina let go of the mat of hair she was holding onto and walked towards Dumbledore. Christina heard Harry dust his pants off and get up to join her in front of Dumbledore.

"Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up now," said Dumbledore. "Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St. Mungo's, but it seems that she will make a full recovery."

"That's good." Christina mumbled. Harry contented himself with nodding at the carpet. Christina was sure that all the portraits around the room were listening eagerly to every word Dumbledore spoke, wondering where Dumbledore, Christina and Harry had been and why there had been injuries.

"I know how you are feeling," said Dumbledore very quietly.

"No, you don't," said Harry, and his voice was suddenly loud and strong. White-hot anger leapt inside Christina, she didn't want to hear anything Harry had to say.

"You see, Dumbledore?" said Phineas Nigellus slyly. "Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own —"

"That's enough, Phineas," said Dumbledore. Harry turned his back on Dumbledore and Christina rolled her eyes.

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore's voice. "On the contrary . . . the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength." Christina felt the white-hot anger lick her insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling her with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words.

"My greatest strength, is it?" said Harry, his voice shaking. "You haven't got a clue. . . . You don't know . . ."

"What don't I know?" asked Dumbledore calmly. Harry turned around, shaking with rage.

"I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?"

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —"

"THEN — I — DON'T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!" Harry roared, and he seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, "Really!"

"I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE —" He seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions.

"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."

"I — DON'T!" Harry screamed, so loudly that Christina thought his throat might tear. She stayed out of Harry's way by the pensieve.

"Oh yes, you do," said Dumbledore, still more calmly. "You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course you care."

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!" Harry roared. "YOU — STANDING THERE — YOU —" He ran to the door, seized the doorknob again, and wrenched at it. But the door would not open. Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

"Let me out," he said. He was shaking from head to foot.

"No," said Dumbledore simply. For a few seconds they stared at each other.

"Let me out," Harry said again.

"No," Dumbledore repeated.

"If you don't — if you keep me in here — if you don't let me —"

"By all means continue destroying my possessions," said Dumbledore serenely. "I daresay I have too many." He walked around his desk and sat down behind it, watching Harry.

"Let me out," Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore's.

"Not until I have had my say," said Dumbledore. Christina thought for a moment that she could just make the door turn to dust . . .

"Professor, maybe you should—" she started but Harry was screaming again.

"Do you — do you think I want to — do you think I give a — I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!" Harry roared. "I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!"

"You will," said Dumbledore sadly. "Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it. The same goes for you, Christina."

"What are you talking — ?" Christina asked, perplexed.

"It is my fault that Sirius died," said Dumbledore clearly. "Or I should say almost entirely my fault — I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Sirius was a brave, clever, and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger. Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries tonight. If I had been open with you, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that Voldemort might try and lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Sirius would not have had to come after you. That blame lies with me, and with me alone." Christina was gazing at Dumbledore, hardly breathing, listening yet barely understanding what she was hearing. Harry was still standing with his hand on the doorknob.

"Please sit down," said Dumbledore. It was not an order, it was a request. Christina slowly walked to the chair and sat down. Harry hesitated, then walked slowly across the room now littered with silver cogs and fragments of wood and took the seat facing Dumbledore's desk.

"I owe you two an explanation," said Dumbledore. "An explanation of an old man's mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young . . . and I seem to have forgotten lately. . . ." The sun was rising properly now. There was a rim of dazzling orange visible over the mountains and the sky above it was colorless and bright. The light fell upon Dumbledore, upon the silver of his eyebrows and beard, upon the lines gouged deeply into his face.

"I guessed, twenty-one years ago," said Dumbledore, "when I saw the scar upon your forehead and hand, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you both and Voldemort."

"You've told me this before, Professor," said Harry bluntly. Christina did not care that he was being rude. She did not care about anything very much anymore.

"Yes," said Dumbledore apologetically. "Yes, but you see — it is necessary to start with your scars. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion."

"I know," said Harry wearily.

"And this ability of yours — to detect Voldemort's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused — has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body and his full powers." Christina did not bother to nod. She knew all of this already.

"More recently," said Dumbledore, "I became concerned that Voldemort might realize that this connection between you exists. Sure enough, there came a time when you entered so far into his mind and thoughts that he sensed your presence. I am speaking, of course, of the night when you witnessed the attack on Mr. Weasley."

"Yeah, Snape told me," Christina muttered.

"Professor Snape, Christina," Dumbledore corrected her quietly. "But did you not wonder why it was not I who explained this to you? Why I did not teach you Occlumency? Why I had not so much as looked at you for months?" Christina looked up. She could see now that Dumbledore looked sad and tired.

"Yeah," Christina mumbled.

"Yeah, I wondered." Harry agreed.

"You see," continued Dumbledore heavily "I believed it could not be long before Voldemort attempted to force his way into your mind, to manipulate and misdirect your thoughts, and I was not eager to give him more incentives to do so. I was sure that if he realized that our relationship was — or had ever been — closer than that of headmaster and pupil, he would seize his chance to use you as a means to spy on me. I feared the uses to which he would put you two, the possibility that he might try and possess you. I believe I was right to think that Voldemort would have made use of you in such a way. On those rare occasions when we had close contact, I thought I saw a shadow of him stir behind your eyes, Harry. And of course the night of Mr. Weasley's attack, Lord Voldemort was very clearly present in my office by using you, Christina . . . I was trying, in distancing myself from you, to protect you. An old man's mistake . . ."

Christina shuddered, remembering the awful night where she was spoonfed poison that removed Voldemort's grasp on her body . . .Christina was letting the words wash over her. She would have been so interested to know all this a few months ago, and now it was meaningless compared to the gaping chasm inside her that was the loss of Sirius, none of it mattered . . .

"Sirius told me that you felt Voldemort awake inside you the very night that you had the vision of Arthur Weasley's attack. I knew at once that my worst fears were correct: Voldemort from that point had realized he could use you. In an attempt to arm you against Voldemort's assaults on your mind, I arranged Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape." He paused. Christina watched the sunlight, which was sliding slowly across the polished surface of Dumbledore's desk, illuminate a silver ink pot and a handsome scarlet quill. Christina could tell that the portraits all around them were awake and listening raptly to Dumbledore's explanation. She could hear the occasional rustle of robes, the slight clearing of a throat. She noticed Phineas Nigellus was gone from his frame . . .

"Professor Snape discovered," Dumbledore resumed, "that you had been dreaming about the door to the Department of Mysteries for months. Voldemort, of course, had been obsessed with the possibility of hearing the prophecy ever since he regained his body, and as he dwelled on the door, so did you two, though you did not know what it meant.

"And then you saw Rookwood, who worked in the Department of Mysteries before his arrest, telling Voldemort what we had known all along — that the prophecies held in the Ministry of Magic are heavily protected. Only the people to whom they refer can lift them from the shelves without suffering madness. In this case, either Voldemort himself would have to enter the Ministry of Magic and risk revealing himself at last — or else you would have to take it for him. It became a matter of even greater urgency that you should master Occlumency."

"But I didn't," muttered Harry. "I didn't practice, I didn't bother, I could've stopped myself having those dreams, Hermione kept telling me to do it, if I had he'd never have been able to show me where to go, and — Sirius wouldn't — Sirius wouldn't —"

"I tried to check he'd really taken Sirius, I went to Umbridge's office, I spoke to Kreacher in the fire, and he said Sirius wasn't there, he said he'd gone!"

"Kreacher lied," said Christina bitterly.

"You are not his master, he could lie to you without even needing to punish himself. Kreacher intended you to go to the Ministry of Magic." Dumbledore confirmed.

"He — he sent me on purpose?"

"Oh yes. Kreacher, I am afraid, has been serving more than one master for months."

"How?" said Harry blankly. "He hasn't been out of Grimmauld Place for years."

"Kreacher seized his opportunity shortly before Christmas," said Dumbledore, "when Sirius, apparently, shouted at him to 'get out.' He took Sirius at his word and interpreted this as an order to leave the house. He went to the only Black family member for whom he had any respect left. . . . Black's cousin Narcissa, sister of Bellatrix and wife of Lucius Malfoy."

"How do you know all this?" Christina said. Her heart was beating very fast. She felt sick. She remembered worrying about Kreacher's odd absence over Christmas, remembered him turning up again in the attic. . . .

"Kreacher told me last night," said Dumbledore. "You see, when you gave Professor Snape that cryptic warning, he realized that you had had a vision of Sirius trapped in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. He, like you, attempted to contact Sirius at once. I should explain that members of the Order of the Phoenix have more reliable methods of communicating than the fire in Dolores Umbridge's office. Professor Snape found that Sirius was alive and safe in Grimmauld Place.

"When, however, you did not return from your trip into the forest with Dolores Umbridge, Professor Snape grew worried that you still believed Sirius to be a captive of Lord Voldemort's. He alerted certain Order members at once." Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and then said, "Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Remus Lupin were at headquarters when he made contact. All agreed to go to your aid at once. Professor Snape requested that Sirius remain behind, as he needed somebody to remain at headquarters to tell me what had happened, for I was due there at any moment. In the meantime he, Professor Snape, intended to search the forest for you.

"But Sirius did not wish to remain behind while the others went to search for you. He delegated to Kreacher the task of telling me what had happened. And so it was that when I arrived in Grimmauld Place shortly after they had all left for the Ministry, it was the elf who told me — laughing fit to burst — where Sirius had gone."

"He was laughing?" said Christina in a hollow voice. She turned her back to Dumbledore, shuddering.

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore. "You see, Kreacher was not able to betray us totally. He is not Secret-Keeper for the Order, he could not give the Malfoys our whereabouts or tell them any of the Order's confidential plans that he had been forbidden to reveal. He was bound by the enchantments of his kind, which is to say that he could not disobey a direct order from his master, Sirius. But he gave Narcissa information of the sort that is very valuable to Voldemort, yet must have seemed much too trivial for Sirius to think of banning him from repeating it."

"Like what?" said Harry.

"Like the fact that the person Sirius cared most about in the world was you," said Dumbledore quietly. The sentence hung there in the air, and Christina's heart-sank. She turned back to Dumbledore and studied his face. How could he say that with her clearly in the room?

"Should I leave? I didn't realize I was interrupting your let's-make-Harry-feel-better-about-murdering-my-dad speech." Christina said bitterly, tears yet again beginning to form.

"As I have already made quite plain, Harry is not the cause of Sirius' death." Dumbledore said calmly, Harry bowed his head trying to stay out of another fight.

"Yes, I know we all want to make precious Harry feel better, _but I lost someone too_! Do I not matter?! Why do I have to be the adult when Harry can throw a tantrum and get the he-loved-you-most speech? Does he not already receive it ten times daily?!"

"I understand that you are upset, Christina. We have all suffered—"

"I HAVE SUFFERED THE MOST! Boo-fucking-hoo Harry lost his godfather, I lost my father TWICE now! How dare you act like he—I – I can't do this," and Christina got up; to this Dumbledore stood up sharply and held out his arm to stop Christina.

"Please sit down, Christina. You need to hear this too." He knew Christina could really leave if she wanted to.

"This is bullshit! This is all bullshit! _I_ lost Sirius! _I_ saved Harry! _I_ fought Lord Voldemort! _Me_! And what do I get? Sit and wait for me to spoon-feed bullshit to Harry Potter? No, not fair! I deserve more! Voldemort was right, you treat me like an animal!" That seemed to have struck a chord with Professor Dumbledore for he was now quiet and very serious.

"What did he say to you, Christina?" he said darkly.

"Nothing I didn't already know." said Christina. Dumbledore placed his hands on the desk and cleared his throat.

"Christina you have to understand, now that Voldemort knows about your natural powers he will stop at nothing to either collect you or kill you. Voldemort surrounds himself with powerful figures, the Death Eaters, Dementors, werewolves, giants . . . you are now his number one target, and if he can't have you on his side he will come after you and kill you. It's our job to protect you."

"I don't need protection. I think I've earned that bit of respect after tonight." said Christina resolute. She folded her arms and sat down in the chair in front of Dumbledore.

"Yours and Sirius' relationship was very complicated, as I'm sure you know Christina. It was so easy for him to be close to Harry because there were no hurt feelings between the two of them. Whereas you very much disliked the role Remus Lupin was playing on your life and all the while Sirius felt extremely guilty . . . He loved you and your mother very much –"

"It's too late for that, he's gone now. And so is she." Dumbledore sighed again, Christina knew she was being difficult and didn't care. The negative energy seemed to be contagious because now Harry was starting to get upset.

"What about Snape?" Harry spat. "You're not talking about him, are you? When I told him Voldemort had Sirius he just sneered at me as usual —"

"Harry, you know that Professor Snape had no choice but to pretend not to take you seriously in front of Dolores Umbridge," said Dumbledore steadily, "but as I have explained, he informed the Order as soon as possible about what you had said. It was he who deduced where you had gone when you did not return from the forest. It was he too who gave Professor Umbridge fake Veritaserum when she was attempting to force you to tell of Sirius's whereabouts. . . ."

"Snape — Snape g-goaded Sirius about staying in the house — he made out Sirius was a coward —" Christina added.

"Sirius was much too old and clever to have allowed such feeble taunts to hurt him, as do you with taunts from your fellow Sytherin students" said Dumbledore.

"Snape stopped giving me Occlumency lessons!" Christina snarled, ignoring Dumbledore's parallel. "He threw me out of his office!"

"I am aware of it," said Dumbledore heavily. "I have already said that it was a mistake for me not to teach you myself, though I was sure, at the time, that nothing could have been more dangerous than to open your mind even further to Voldemort while in my presence —"

"Snape made it worse, my scar always hurt worse after lessons with him —" Harry added. "How do you know he wasn't trying to soften me up for Voldemort, make it easier for him to get inside my —"

"I trust Severus Snape," said Dumbledore simply. "But I forgot — another old man's mistake — that some wounds run too deep for the healing. I thought Professor Snape could overcome his feelings about your fathers — I was wrong."

"But that's okay, is it?" yelled Harry, the scandalized faces and disapproving mutterings of the portraits covering the walls attempting to interrupt. "It's okay for Snape to hate my dad, but it's not okay for Sirius to hate Kreacher?"

"Sirius did not hate Kreacher," said Dumbledore. "He regarded him as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike. . . . The fountain we destroyed tonight told a lie. We wizards have mistreated and abused our fellows for too long, and we are now reaping our reward."

"SO SIRIUS DESERVED WHAT HE GOT, DID HE?" Harry yelled.

"I did not say that, nor will you ever hear me say it," Dumbledore replied quietly. "Sirius was not a cruel man, he was kind to house-elves in general. He had no love for Kreacher, because Kreacher was a living reminder of the home Sirius had hated."

"Yeah, he did hate it!" said Christina, her voice cracking, turning her back on Dumbledore and walking away. The sun was bright inside the room now, and the eyes of all the portraits followed her as she walked, without realizing what she was doing, without seeing the office at all. "You made him stay shut up in that house and he hated it, that's why he wanted to get out last night —"

"I was trying to keep Sirius alive," said Dumbledore quietly.

"People don't like being locked up!" Christina said furiously, rounding on him. "You did it to me all last summer and even I left — !" Dumbledore closed his eyes and buried his face in his long-fingered hands. Christina watched him, but this uncharacteristic sign of exhaustion, or sadness, or whatever it was from Dumbledore, did not soften her. On the contrary, she felt even angrier that Dumbledore was showing signs of weakness. He had no business being weak when Christina wanted to rage and storm at him. Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Christina through his half-moon glasses.

"It is time," he said, "for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Christina. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything. I ask only a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me — to do whatever you like — when I have finished. I will not stop you." Christina glared at him for a moment, then flung herself back into the chair opposite Dumbledore, next to Harry and waited. Dumbledore stared for a moment at the sunlit grounds outside the window, then looked back at Christina and Harry and said, "Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Christina two years ago, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well — not quite whole. You both had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep and a foster family in America, Christina. I knew I was condemning you two to seventeen dark and difficult years." He paused. Neither Christina nor Harry said anything.

"You might ask — and with good reason — why it had to be so. Why could some Wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, would have been honored and delighted to raise you as children. Or why keep you separated? Truly neither of you will be another who has gone through similar events.

"My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but myself realized. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters — and many of them are almost as terrible as he — were still at large, angry, desperate, and violent. And I had to make my decision too with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone forever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty, or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed the two of you.

"I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power.

"But I knew too where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated — to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother, Harry, died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative."

"She doesn't love me," said Harry at once. "She doesn't give a damn —"

"But she took you," Dumbledore cut across him. "She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you."

"I still don't —"

"While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past twenty-one years."

"Wait," said Harry. "Wait a moment." He sat up straighter in his chair, staring at Dumbledore. "You sent that Howler. You told her to remember — it was your voice —"

"I thought," said Dumbledore, inclining his head slightly, "that she might need reminding of the pact she had sealed by taking you. I suspected the dementor attack might have awoken her to the dangers of having you as a surrogate son."

"It did," said Harry quietly.

"Well — my uncle more than her. He wanted to chuck me out, but after the Howler came she — she said I had to stay." Dumbledore smiled and then panned over to Christina. "You were not quite the case. With your mother gone from the home, she could not have sacrificed her life for you. However, as you very clearly know now, is that the Unforgivable Curses don't particularly have the same effect on you as they do on others." Christina silently nodded, remembering Imperius curses bouncing off of her and a muted Cruciatus curse . . .

"The Killing Curse is the same . . . while the spell that protected Harry was certainly ancient magic, yours far exceeded magic today. Especially at a young age, your natural powers were at a peak. Think of it as the muggle-term 'charging', your energy when you were just a baby was focusing and honing and when Voldemort hit you with the killing curse you could not be touched . . . as you know the spell then rebounded from both you and Harry leaving a lightning bolt, starting at the center of your hand and ending at the middle of Harry's forehead.

She stared at the floor for a moment, then said, "But what's this got to do with . . ." She could not say Sirius's name.

"Five years ago, then," continued Dumbledore, as though he had not paused in his story, "Harry, you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well.

"And then . . . well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you, and sooner — much sooner — than I had anticipated, you found yourself face-to-face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was . . . prouder of you than I can say.

"Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine," said Dumbledore. "An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort."

"I don't understand what you're saying," said Harry.

"Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?" Harry nodded. "Ought I to have told you then?" Harry stared into the blue eyes and said nothing, but his heart was racing again.

"You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No . . . perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Too young, I told myself, much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were that young. The knowledge would be too much at such an age.

"I should have recognized the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognized that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day. . . . You were too young, much too young.

"And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced. Once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark upon you. We discussed your scar, oh yes. . . . We came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything?

"I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in me to spoil that night of triumph. . . . but I knew I must at least give you some sort of explanation. So I introduced you to Christina, your childhood partner in crime so to speak.

"I was hoping that perhaps the two of you would stay out of trouble or at least help one another through school but as you know trouble always seems to find you two . . . and so I didn't tell you.

"Do you see? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid."

"I don't —"

"I cared about you too much," said Dumbledore simply. "I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.

"Is there a defense? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have —and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined — not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands.

"Your third year I watched from afar as you two struggled to repel dementors, Christina you testing your powers, finding love, both finding Sirius, learned what and who he was and rescued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had triumphantly snatched your godfather and father from the jaws of the Ministry? But now my excuses were running out. Young you two might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My conscience was uneasy. I knew the time must come soon. . . .

"But you both came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die—" Christina closed her eyes at the name, "—having escaped death so narrowly yourself . . . and I did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defense is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school, and I could not bring myself to add another — the greatest one of all." Christina and Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak. "I still don't understand." Harry said, breaking the silence.

"Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you."

The sun had risen fully now. Dumbledore's office was bathed in it. The glass case in which the sword of Godric Gryffindor resided gleamed white and opaque, the fragments of the instruments Harry had thrown to the floor glistened like raindrops, and behind him, the baby Fawkes made soft chirruping noises in his nest of ashes.

"The prophecy's smashed," Harry said blankly. "I was pulling Neville up those benches in the — the room where the archway was, and I ripped his robes and it fell. . . ."

"The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly."

"Who heard it?" asked Christina, though she thought she knew the answer already.

"I did," said Dumbledore. "On a cold, wet night twenty-two years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head Inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer, and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave." Dumbledore got to his feet and walked past Christina and Harry to the black cabinet that stood beside Fawkes's perch. He bent down, slid back a catch, and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the edges, in which Christina had seen Harry's father tormenting Snape. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand, and deposited them in the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip. A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sibyll Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Christina had heard her use once before.

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES. . . . BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES . . . AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK THEM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT THEY WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT . . . AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES. . . . THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES. . . ." The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished. The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Christina nor Harry nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had fallen silent.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still staring at the Pensieve, seemed completely lost in thought. "It . . . did that mean . . . What did that mean?"

"I once thought it meant," said Dumbledore, "that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly twenty-one years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

"However, I have come to mean it something entirely different. I believe the prophecy was referring to two children, 'Born to those who have thrice defied him' and another 'Born as the seventh month dies'." Christina felt as though something was closing in upon her. Her breathing seemed difficult again.

"It means — us?" Christina asked. Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment.

"The odd thing is, Christina," he said softly, "that it may not have meant you at all. Sibyll's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you, Harry. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"But then . . . but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's? And why not Christina's?"

"The official record was relabeled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child," said Dumbledore. "It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sibyll was referring."

"Then — it might not be us?" said Harry.

"I am afraid," said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, "that there is no doubt that it is you two."

"But you said — Neville was born at the end of July too — and his mum and dad —"

"You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the child, or children I've come to learn, who could vanquish Voldemort. . . . Voldemort himself would 'mark them as his equal.' And so he did. He chose you, Harry, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse. Christina, had you not been present that night I'm sure he would not have regarded you as anything other than an ordinary witch. Only recently did I start to understand the full meaning of the prophecy-"

"But he might have chosen wrong! Maybe I'm not the boy—" said Harry.

"He might have marked the wrong person!" said Christina.

"He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him," said Dumbledore. "And notice this, Harry. He chose, not the pureblood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing), but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far — something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved."

"Why did he do it, then?" said Christina, who felt numb and cold.

"Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then —"

"That might, indeed, have been the more practical course," said Dumbledore, "except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head Inn, which Sibyll chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sibyll Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My — our — one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building."

"So he only heard . . . ?"

"He heard only the first part, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July and the part about parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you — again marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait or to learn more. He did not know about a child that would have 'power the Dark Lord knows not' —" All eyes turned to Christina but she didn't care, and trudged on, "The end of the prophecy . . . it was something about . . . 'neither can live. . . .' "

" '. . . while the other survives,' " said Dumbledore.

"So," said Christina, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside her, "so does that mean that . . . that one of us has got to kill the other one . . . in the end?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. For a long time, no one spoke. Somewhere far beyond the office walls, Christina could hear the sound of voices, students heading down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast, perhaps. It seemed impossible that there could be people in the world who still desired food, who laughed, who neither knew nor cared that Sirius Black was gone forever. Sirius seemed a million miles away already, even if a part of Christina still believed that if she had only pulled back that veil, she would have found Sirius looking back at her, greeting her, perhaps, with his laugh like a bark that reminded her of her own. . . .

"I feel I owe you another explanation, Harry" said Dumbledore hesitantly. "You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect? I must confess . . . that I rather thought . . . you had enough responsibility to be going on with." Christina smiled and chuckled.

"And I'm just too much trouble." Christina said laughing, remembering what Fred, George and Hermione had said to her seemingly eons ago about Ron becoming prefect . . .

"Perhaps . . ." Christina looked up at Professor Dumbledore and saw him smile while a tear trickling down his face into his long silver beard.


	37. Chapter 37: PS

**HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS**

In a brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is active once more.

"It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord — well, you know who I mean — is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe that the dementors are currently taking direction from Lord — Thingy.

"We urge the magical population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense that will be delivered free to all Wizarding homes within the coming month."

The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the Wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was "no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more."

Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening.

Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards, and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was unavailable for comment last night. He has insisted for a year that You-Know-Who was not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but recruiting followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize power. Meanwhile Harry Potter and Christina Bataskill—

"There you are, I knew they'd drag you into it somehow," said Hermione, looking over the top of the paper at them. They were in the hospital wing. Christina was sitting in a chair next to Hermione while Harry was sitting on the end of Ron's bed and they were both listening to Hermione read the front page of the Sunday Prophet. Ginny, whose ankle had been mended in a trice by Madam Pomfrey, was curled up at the foot of Hermione's bed; Neville, whose nose had likewise been returned to its normal size and shape, was in a chair between the two beds; and Luna, who had dropped in to visit clutching the latest edition of The Quibbler, was reading the magazine upside down and apparently not taking in a word Hermione was saying.

"They have their names again now, though, don't they?" said Ron darkly. "Not such show-off maniacs or heart-breakers anymore, eh?" He helped himself to a handful of Chocolate Frogs from the immense pile Fred and George had sent on his bedside cabinet, threw a few to Christina, Harry, Ginny, and Neville, and ripped off the wrapper of his own with his teeth. There were still deep welts on his forearms where the brain's tentacles had wrapped around him. According to Madam Pomfrey, thoughts could leave deeper scarring than almost anything else, though since she had started applying copious amounts of Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction, there seemed to be some improvement. Christina's pile of goodies and treats from Fred was so large she was almost embarrassed, then remembered what she had endured and instantly stopped caring. Fred had wrote Christina a letter but she still hadn't read it for she hadn't had a single moment alone since receiving it.

"Yes, they're very complimentary about you now," said Hermione, now scanning down the article. _" 'A lone voice of truth . . . perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story . . . both forced to bear ridicule and slander ._ . .' Hmmm," said Hermione, frowning, "I notice they don't mention the fact that it was them doing all the ridiculing and slandering, though. . . ."

She winced slightly and put a hand to her ribs. The curse Dolohov had used on her, though less effective than it would have been had he been able to say the incantation aloud, had nevertheless caused, in Madam Pomfrey's words, "quite enough damage to be going on with." Hermione was having to take ten different types of potion every day and although she was improving greatly, was already bored with the hospital wing.

 _" 'You-Know-Who's Last Attempt to Take Over, pages two to four, What the Ministry Should Have Told Us, page five, Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore, pages six to eight, Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter, page nine_ . . .' Well," said Hermione, folding up the newspaper and throwing it aside, "it's certainly given them lots to write about. And that interview with Harry isn't exclusive, it's the one that was in The Quibbler months ago. . . ."

"Daddy sold it to them," said Luna vaguely, turning a page of The Quibbler. "He got a very good price for it too, so we're going to go on an expedition to Sweden this summer and see if we can catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Hermione seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, then said, "That sounds lovely."

Ginny caught Christina's eye and looked away quickly, grinning.

"So anyway," said Hermione, sitting up a little straighter and wincing again, "what's going on in school?"

"Well, Flitwick's got rid of Fred and George's swamp," said Ginny. "He did it in about three seconds. But he left a tiny patch under the window and he's roped it off —"

"Why?" said Hermione, looking startled.

"Oh, he just says it was a really good bit of magic," said Ginny, shrugging.

"I think he left it as a monument to Fred and George," said Ron through a mouthful of chocolate.

"They sent me all these, you know," he told Harry, pointing at the small mountain of Frogs beside him.

"Must be doing all right out of that joke shop, eh?" Hermione looked rather disapproving at Christina's tower of sweets and asked, "So has all the trouble stopped now Dumbledore's back?"

"Yes," said Neville, "everything's settled right back down again."

"I s'pose Filch is happy, is he?" asked Ron, propping a Chocolate Frog card featuring Dumbledore against his water jug.

"Not at all," said Ginny. "He's really, really miserable, actually. . . ." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He keeps saying Umbridge was the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts. . . ."

All seven of them looked around. Professor Umbridge was lying in a bed opposite them, gazing up at the ceiling. Dumbledore had strode alone into the forest to rescue her from the centaurs. How he had done it — how he had emerged from the trees supporting Professor Umbridge without so much as a scratch on him — nobody knew, and Umbridge was certainly not telling. Since she had returned to the castle she had not, as far as any of them knew, uttered a single word. Nobody really knew what was wrong with her either. Her usually neat mousy hair was very untidy and there were bits of twig and leaf in it, but otherwise she seemed to be quite unscathed.

"Madam Pomfrey says she's just in shock," whispered Hermione.

"Sulking, more like," said Ginny

"Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this," said Ron, and with his tongue he made soft clip-clopping noises. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking wildly around.

"Anything wrong, Professor?" called Madam Pomfrey, poking her head around her office door.

"No . . . no . . ." said Umbridge, sinking back into her pillows, "no, I must have been dreaming. . . ." Christina, Hermione and Ginny muffled their laughter in the bedclothes.

"Speaking of centaurs," said Hermione, when she had recovered a little, "who's Divination teacher now? Is Firenze staying?"

"He's got to," said Harry, "the other centaurs won't take him back, will they?"

"It looks like he and Trelawney are both going to teach," said Ginny.

"Bet Dumbledore wishes he could've got rid of Trelawney for good," said Ron, now munching on his fourteenth Frog. "Mind you, the whole subjects useless if you ask me, Firenze isn't a lot better. . . ."

"How can you say that?" Hermione demanded. "After we've just found out that there are real prophecies?" Christina's heart began to race. She had not told Ron, Hermione, or anyone else what the prophecy had contained. Neville had told them it had smashed while Harry was pulling him up the steps in the Death Room, and Christina nor Harry had not yet corrected this impression. She was not ready to see their expressions when she told them that she must be either murderer or victim, there was no other way. . . .

"It is a pity it broke," said Hermione quietly, shaking her head.

"Yeah, it is," said Ron. "Still, at least You-Know-Who never found out what was in it either — where are you going?" he added, looking both surprised and disappointed as Harry stood up.

"Er — Hagrid's," said Harry. "You know, he just got back and I promised I'd go down and see him and tell him how you two are. . . ." Christina looked Harry up and down and knew he was lying. She felt like she could feel his heart-rate rising.

"Oh all right then," said Ron grumpily, looking out of the dormitory window at the patch of bright blue sky beyond. "Wish we could come . . ."

"Say hello to him for us!" called Hermione, as Harry proceeded down the ward. "And ask him what's happening about . . . about his little friend!" Harry gave a wave of his hand as he left the dormitory.

"Yeah, I'm probably going to head off too, you won't believe how many people keep asking about the story!" said Neville, rising from his chair proudly. Luna rose too, without saying a word and followed Neville, head buried in her Quibbler . . .

"Bye . . . I guess . . ." said Ron quizzically then turned to Christina very seriously. "Don't blast me through the door but . . . You-Know-Who knows, now . . . right?"

Christina sighed. "Yeah."

"So what does that mean?" asked Ginny, finishing her frog. Hermione, for once, was silent.

"Well . . . Dumbledore said that Voldemort will either try to collect me or kill me . . but I hope he exposes me. I'm so sick of hiding. Wouldn't it be nice if I could just use my powers all the time? Not save them for a rainy day – hah – well not literally . . ." said Christina remembering that her powers don't work when she touches water.

"I can't believe you fought him, head-on . . . I mean, I'm not doubting you its just . . . well, it's Him, isn't it?" said Hermione timidly. Christina patted a hand on Hermione's shoulder, offering her mock-sincerity.

"A think a good job, would have sufficed." Christina joked. Hermione laughed, "But seriously! Christina you're only twenty-one and you just fought the most wicked man in the Wizarding World – "

"Do you want my autograph?" she joked again.

"I'm just saying be careful, Professor Dumbledore's right, he'll try to use you in any way he can, it's just what he does." Christina didn't speak. Hermione was right, but honestly Christina wasn't worried, she wasn't . . . anything at the moment. She was just there, making jokes, not focusing on anything in particular.

"So, we thinking a summer wedding?" said Ginny, Christina shook her head and smiled at her. Mentally thanking her for changing the subject.

"Well now that my fiancé's a millionaire . . ."

Ron and Hermione left the hospital wing completely cured three days before the end of term. Harry returned every now and then but seemed to prefer to be alone. Christina was fine with this, she felt rather uncomfortable in his presence since they attacked each other.

Hermione showed signs of wanting to talk about Sirius, but Ron tended to make hushing noises every time she mentioned his name. Christina was not sure whether or not he wanted to talk about her father yet; her wishes varied with her mood. She knew one thing, though: Unhappy as she felt at the moment, she would greatly miss Hogwarts in a few days' time when she was back in the United States. Indeed, she had never dreaded her return more.

Professor Umbridge left Hogwarts the day before the end of term. It seemed that she had crept out of the hospital wing during dinnertime, evidently hoping to depart undetected, but unfortunately for her, she met Peeves on the way, who seized his last chance to do as Fred had instructed and chased her gleefully from the premises, whacking her alternately with a walking stick and a sock full of chalk. Many students ran out into the entrance hall to watch her running away down the path, and the Heads of Houses tried only halfheartedly to restrain their pupils. Indeed, Professor McGonagall sank back into her chair at the staff table after a few feeble remonstrances and was clearly heard to express a regret that she could not run cheering after Umbridge herself, because Peeves had borrowed her walking stick.

Their last evening at school arrived; most people had finished packing and were already heading down to the end-of-term feast, but Christina had not even started.

"Just do it tomorrow!" said Ron, who was waiting by the door of the girl's dormitory. "Come on, I'm starving and Harry hasn't packed either. . . ."

"I won't be long. . . . Look, you go ahead with Hermione. . . ." Hermione had just gotten up to leave and Ron moaned and Hermione shut the door behind them. But when the dormitory door closed, Christina made no effort to speed up her packing. The very last thing she wanted to do was to attend the end-of-term feast. She was worried that Dumbledore would make some reference to her in his speech. He was sure to mention Voldemort's return; he had talked to them about it last year, after all. . . .

Christina pulled some crumpled robes out of the very bottom of her trunk to make way for folded ones and, as she picked up the stack on folded clothes several candy wrapped and a letter revealed themselves on her bed. Christina sank down onto her bed and unwrapped the envelope and removed the letter.

 _Christina –_

 _My Dad told me everything. George and I came home from work and the Order was just in shambles. I'm so sorry, love I am so sorry. You don't deserve this. Any of this. Buckbeak's been a wreck, we all have. He was a great man, he died with honor I hope you know . . . I'm sure a lot of people are telling you that now but coming from me in a non-jokey manner should mean something. I'm here for you and I'll always be here for you. At least know everyone knows you can kick their ass, I'd like to see Snape try and get in your head now!_

 _Listen, I don't want you to be alone but I can't come to Hogwarts to see you. I wish I could. You know you can always come see me, by death horse or train . . . Oh, good news! Your fiancé has come through!_

 _Dumbledore put me in contact with your American family and they were thrilled about the engagement and were very understanding that a couple to be wed shouldn't be apart … especially for the summer. So they've agreed to let you stay with me … we'll be together at the Burrow again! God, I miss you so much. I'll see you at the train station, love._

 _All my love,_

 _Christina Weasley_ _WAIT_ _Fred Bataskill_ _hold on_ _Frestina Weaslskill_

 _We'll figure it out_

 _P.S. Did you like the chocolates? None were poisoned, just for you. And Ron who probably ate most of them despite himself._

 _P.P.S Love you_

 _P.P.P.S My mum says we can't stay in the same room, because 'She won't be with you after seeing the state of your room, Fred! For heaven's sake!'_

 _P.P.P.P.S Did Umbridge really get mauled by centaurs? You'll have to tell me everything. In my room. To spite my mother._

 _P.P.P.P.P.S How many of these can I do before it's long enough to be its own letter?_

 _P.P.P.P.P.P.S Answer: 7_

 _P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. See you soon 3_

She bit her lip smiling, tears blurring her vision. If there was anything in this world that was perfect and pure it was Fred Weasley. To her, he was impeccable. Gorgeous, hilarious, sweet, genuine, tall, athletic, friendly, sexually stimulating . . . He was the absolute package, and Christina for the life of her couldn't understand why someone so sublime would want to be with such a drama-magnet that was Christina Bataskill. Parent-less, powerful of ancient magic, chosen to either murder or die at the hand of Lord Voldemort: Christina Bataskill.

Christina looked down at the letter again at the note about her living at the Burrow . . . finally! A summer with the people she cared about. But, did that mean she really did have to plan a wedding? Christina was never the type of girl to obsess over a wedding, she rarely had given it thought compared to most girls who planned theirs since birth it seemed like . . . but she knew she wanted all her friends there and that included Harry. She had to find him to apologize.

Christina folded the letter and kissed the seal before stowing it in her luggage underneath the pile of neatly folded clothes – Mrs. Weasley will be impressed, Christina thought.

Christina remembered Ron saying Harry was still packing and whisked herself through the walls as her dust-version and found the room to be empty. Determined, she flew invisibly through the Gryffindor common room and down to the Great Hall where she reassembled herself in the broom closet directly across, a hideaway of hers and Fred's for quite some time now . . .

She walked through the Great Hall and scanned the tables, however her entrance was not as quiet as she would have liked. Nearly every student seemed to be watching her and she couldn't just stand there searching for Harry . . . she trudged on forward. It was very different than last year's End-of-Term feast. For one, there were no black banners hanging from the ceiling . . . instead they were thankfully blue, Christina knew Gryffindor didn't stand a chance with the Inquisitorial Squad still docking points. However she did notice several more pebbles than usual . . probably by way of Professor Dumbledore. He seemed to have a soft spot for giving Gryffindor surprise points by the end of the term.

Christina found Hermione and Ron and sat in between them, both of them looking at her dismally. Christina assumed Dumbledore had just mentioned the events at the Department of Mysteries . . . even thinking about the name made her angry.

"Do you know where Harry is?" Christina whispered to Hermione and Ron as Dumbledore trudged on with his speech.

"We'd thought he'd be with you!" Hermione whispered back.

"He was in the boy's dormitory last time I saw him . . . " said Ron.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked.

"We got into a huge fight in Dumbledore's office. I wanted to apolog-"

"What!?" Ron blurted out. Ginny, Dean, and Neville all turned.

"Shh! What happened?" said Hermione annoyed at Ron for not whispering.

"Sirius wouldn't have died if Harry wasn't such an idiot! But, whatever, that's not the point. The point is we shouldn't hate each other just because Harry is the worst." She said, clearly still bothered.

"Christina, it doesn't sound like you're sorry at all . . . "

"Would you apologize to him? We wouldn't have gone if he didn't see that vision! Guys, Sirius was the only adult who actually understood what I was going through." But Hermione had heard enough.

"Christina you very well know that Sirius didn't die because Harry was an 'idiot'." Christina huffed. She felt more content with being angry than facing the reality that Harry really thought he was doing what he thought was right at the time.

"Whatever. Someone has to be to blame." said Christina, crossing her arms resolutely.

"Blame that mad-cow Bellatrix! Go send some rocks her way, she could use a few dents in the head." said Ron in a loud whisper. Hermione rolled her eyes. Students were clapping now; the speech must have just ended because food was now appearing on all the silver trays in front of them. Christina suddenly felt the company of Ron and Hermione was something she wanted much more than apologizing to Harry. She talked to Ron and Hermione about Fred's letter and Ron and Ginny were nearly floored.

"Really? Oh my God, finally another girl, you've got to help me with these idiots-" Ginny started excitedly.

"As if she's going to be hanging around you! Fred and her are going to be off canoodling." Ron added with a mouthful of pudding.

"Mum's going to want to plan the wedding with you, I hope you know – " Ginny went on.

"I think this'll finally put you back into her good graces – " said Ron. Christina hadn't forgotten that Mrs. Weasley believed Christina had cheated on Harry with Fred and hadn't yet met Mrs. Weasley's wrath once she would soon find out that Christina had given Fred and George money for their joke-shop.

"It'll be one hell of a summer, that's for sure."

The journey home on the Hogwarts Express next day was eventful in several ways. Firstly, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who had clearly been waiting all week for the opportunity to strike without teacher witnesses, attempted to ambush Christina halfway down the train as she made her way back from the toilet. The attack might have succeeded had it not been for the fact that they unwittingly chose to stage the attack right outside a compartment full of D.A. members, who saw what was happening through the glass and rose as one to rush to Christina's aid. By the time Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot had finished using a wide variety of the hexes and jinxes Christina and Harry had taught them, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle resembled nothing so much as three gigantic slugs squeezed into Hogwarts uniforms as Christina, Ernie, and Justin hoisted them into the luggage rack and left them there to ooze.

"I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing Malfoy's mother's face when he gets off the train," said Ernie with some satisfaction, as he watched Malfoy squirm above him. Ernie had never quite got over the indignity of Malfoy docking points from Hufflepuff during his brief spell as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.

"Goyle's mum'll be really pleased, though," said Ron, who had come to investigate the source of the commotion. "He's loads better looking now. . . . Anyway, Christina, the food trolley's just stopped if you want anything. . . ." Christina thanked the others and accompanied Ron back to their compartment, where she bought a large pile of Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties. Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet again, Harry was looking out the window mistily, Ginny was doing a quiz in The Quibbler, and Neville was stroking his Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had grown a great deal over the year and now made odd crooning noises when touched. Harry and Ron whiled away most of the journey playing wizard chess while Hermione read out snippets from the Prophet. It was now full of articles about how to repel dementors, attempts by the Ministry to track down Death Eaters, and hysterical letters claiming that the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very morning. . . .

"It hasn't really started yet," sighed Hermione gloomily, folding up the newspaper again. "But it won't be long now. . . ."

"Hey, Harry," said Ron, nodding toward the glass window onto the corridor. Christina looked to see what he was pointing at. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta Edgecombe, who was wearing a balaclava. Cho blushed and kept walking.

"What's — er — going on with you and her anyway?" Christina asked quietly. It was the first thing she said to him since they were in Dumbledore's office.

"Nothing," said Harry genuinely.

"I — er — heard she's going out with someone else now," said Hermione tentatively.

"You're well out of it, mate," said Ron forcefully. "I mean, she's quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more cheerful."

"She's probably cheerful enough with someone else," said Harry, shrugging.

"Who's she with now anyway?" Christina asked Hermione, but it was Ginny who answered.

"Michael Corner," she said.

"Michael — but —" said Ron, craning around in his seat to stare at her. "But you were going out with him!"

"Not anymore," said Ginny resolutely. "He didn't like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead." She scratched her nose absently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside down, and began marking her answers. Christina laughed proudly. "Good for you."

Ron looked highly delighted. "Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot," he said, moving a piece in his game of chess with Harry. "Just choose someone — better — next time." Christina rolled her eyes.

"Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he's better?" asked Ginny vaguely. Christina smiled, clapping wordlessly at Ginny.

"WHAT?" shouted Ron, upending the chessboard. Crookshanks went plunging after the pieces and Tulip, Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered and hooted angrily from overhead.

As the train slowed down in the approach to King's Cross, Christina thought she had never wanted to leave it more. When it finally puffed to a standstill, she jumped up, lifted down Tulip's cage and prepared to drag her trunk from the train.

When the ticket inspector signaled to her, Harry, Ron, and Hermione that it was safe to walk through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, however, she found a different surprise awaiting them on the other side: a group of people standing there to greet them whom she had not expected at all.

There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous traveling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend the weird sisters. Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair graying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material. Christina dropped her trunk and cage and leapt for Fred who caught her with ease.

"Oh the happy couple!" Mrs. Weasley cooed. "Ron, Ginny!" called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forward and hugging her children tightly.

"Miss me?" Fred said smiling, an inch from her face and looking quite pleased with himself.

"I can't believe I'm staying with you this summer, you are the absolute best!" and she kissed him hard on the mouth. She heard a cough come from behind her and Fred let her down. Christina had nearly forgotten she was in the middle of a train platform. She moved on to Mrs. Weasley who seemed as eager as ever to hug her future daughter-in-law.

"Oh, and Christina dear — how are you?"

"Fine now," said Christina with a satisfied sigh. Mrs. Weasley pulled her into a tight embrace. Over her shoulder she saw Ron goggling at the twins' new clothes.

"What are they supposed to be?" he asked, pointing at the jackets.

"Finest dragon skin, little bro," said Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. "Business is booming and we thought we'd treat ourselves."

"Hello, Christina," said Lupin, as Mrs. Weasley let go of Christina and turned to greet Hermione.

"Hey," said Christina. "I didn't expect . . . what are you all doing here?"

"Well," said Lupin with a slight smile, "we thought we might have a little chat with Harry's aunt and uncle before letting them take him home. I assume the Burrow is to your liking?" they both smiled.

"So you've heard?" Christina asked looking down at her shoes.

"Congratulations." Lupin said placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Ah, Christina! Future Weasley, eh?" said Mr. Weasley, turning from Hermione's parents, whom he had been greeting enthusiastically, and who were taking it in turns to hug Hermione. Mr. Weasley gave Christina a big hug and then held her shoulders so he could look at her properly. He just stared at her, a look of wonder in his eyes as if he was looking at his favorite muggle-tech-toy. He shook his head and smiled, then turned to Lupin.

"Well — shall we do it, then?"

"Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur," said Moody. He and Mr. Weasley took the lead across the station toward the place where the Dursleys stood, apparently rooted to the floor. Hermione disengaged herself gently from her mother to join the group. Fred found his way to Christina fully ready to have her in the middle of the station but Christina held him back, ready to watch Harry's uncle melt with hatred.

"Good afternoon," said Mr. Weasley pleasantly to Vernon, coming to a halt right in front of him. "You might remember me, my name's Arthur Weasley." Vernon turned a deeper shade of puce and glared at Mr. Weasley, but chose not to say anything, partly, perhaps, because the Dursleys were outnumbered two to one. Harry's Aunt Petunia looked both frightened and embarrassed. She kept glancing around, as though terrified somebody she knew would see her in such company. Harry's cousin Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he was failing extravagantly.

"We thought we'd just have a few words with you about Harry," said Mr. Weasley, still smiling.

"Yeah," growled Moody. "About how he's treated when he's at your place." Vernon's mustache seemed to bristle with indignation. Possibly because the bowler hat gave him the entirely mistaken impression that he was dealing with a kindred spirit, he addressed himself to Moody.

"I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house —"

"I expect what you're not aware of would fill several books, Dursley," growled Moody. Christina barked out of a laugh to which Fred, behind her, clasped her mouth shut.

"Anyway, that's not the point," interjected Tonks, whose pink hair seemed to offend Petunia more than all the rest put together, for she closed her eyes rather than look at her. "The point is, if we find out you've been horrible to Harry —"

"— and make no mistake, we'll hear about it," added Lupin pleasantly.

"Yes," said Mr. Weasley, "even if you won't let Harry use the fellytone —"

"Telephone," whispered Hermione.

"Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter's been mistreated in any way, you'll have us to answer to," said Moody. Vernon swelled ominously. His sense of outrage seemed to outweigh even his fear of this bunch of oddballs.

"Are you threatening me, sir?" he said, so loudly that passersby actually turned to stare.

"Yes, I am," said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly.

"And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?" barked Vernon.

"Well . . ." said Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. Vernon leapt backward in horror and collided painfully with a luggage trolley.

"Yes, I'd have to say you do, Dursley." He turned from Vernon to Harry. "So, Potter . . . give us a shout if you need us. If we don't hear from you for three days in a row, we'll send someone along. . . ." Petunia whimpered piteously. It could not have been plainer that she was thinking of what the neighbors would say if they caught sight of these people marching up the garden path.

" 'Bye, then, Potter," said Moody, grasping Harry's shoulder for a moment with a gnarled hand.

"Take care, Harry," said Lupin quietly. "Keep in touch."

"Harry, we'll have you away from there as soon as we can," Mrs. Weasley whispered, hugging him again.

"We'll see you soon, mate," said Ron anxiously, shaking Harry's hand.

"Really soon, Harry," said Hermione earnestly. "We promise." Christina walked over to Harry, honestly sad to see him go. She couldn't think of anything to say . . . so she just hugged him. Harry must have been shocked her he didn't reciprocate immediately but he eventually found his holding.

"I'm so sorry . . . " Harry said into her neck. She bit her lip, emotion flooding her. He grabbed at the back of her sweater and huffed, upset as well.

"I'm glad you're alive." She said back, feeling swept up. She felt someone place a hand on her shoulder and didn't care who it was. She was going to miss Harry, angst and all. He let her go and wiped a tear from her eye.

Harry, never one for goodbyes, smiled, raised a hand in farewell, turned around, and led the way out of the station toward the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley hurrying along in his wake.

"I'm proud of you" Christina turned to see it was Hermione's hand on her shoulder. Christina smiled back at her.

"I can only hate him for so long, we're in this together after all." Hermione looked as though she were about to cry as well but it was Mrs. Weasley who pulled them out of their reverie.

"Christina, dear, you will not believe the colors and flowers I have picked out for your wedding! I've got clippings from magazines and, dear, it's going to be perfect. I'll show you when we get home!" Christina couldn't help but laugh as she waved goodbye to Hermione and her parents and hello to a summer with The Weasleys.


End file.
